CHAPTER 4: A Knock Before Sunrise
CHAPTER 4: A Knock Before Sunrise
The pounding started at 5:17 the next morning.
Not a polite knock.
Not the hesitant tap of a neighbor borrowing sugar.
It was urgent.
The kind that made you think someone had died.
I jolted awake on the old pullout couch that doubled as my bed. My mother was already sitting up in the bedroom, coughing softly.
"Victoria?" she called. "Who's at the door?"
"I don't know."
I slipped on yesterday's jeans and hurried across our tiny apartment.
Our building in the Bronx was the kind landlords forgot existed. The hallway lights flickered when they felt like it. The paint peeled in long strips from the walls, and every winter the radiators banged like they were trying to escape.
Nobody visited us before sunrise.
I opened the door cautiously.
Ethan Blackwood stood in the hallway.
He looked nothing like the polished billionaire I'd met the evening before.
His expensive suit was wrinkled.
His tie was gone.
Dark circles framed bloodshot eyes, and the shadow of a beard covered his jaw as though he hadn't slept at all.
Behind him stood no security guards.
No driver.
Just Ethan.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know this is inappropriate."
I stared at him.
"Mr. Blackwood..."
"Ethan."
"What are you doing here?"
"I need your help."
Those four words caught me completely off guard.
A man worth billions didn't show up at the apartment of a housekeeper asking for help.
Unless something had gone terribly wrong.
Before I could answer, my mother appeared behind me, wrapped in an old cardigan.
She took one look at Ethan, then at me.
"Victoria?"
"It's... complicated."
My mother smiled politely.
"Young man, are you planning to explain why you're frightening my daughter before breakfast?"
Despite everything, Ethan managed a tired smile.
"I deserve that."
He extended a hand.
"My name is Ethan Blackwood."
She shook it.
"Evelyn Hayes."
Her eyes narrowed just slightly.
"The Blackwood?"
"I'm afraid so."
She looked from him to me.
"Victoria, invite him inside before the neighbors decide you're secretly dating a movie star."
I nearly choked.
"Mom!"
"What? Let the poor man in."
Ethan stepped into our apartment, and for a brief second I became painfully aware of every crack in the walls, every worn piece of furniture, every patched curtain my mother had sewn by hand.
Compared to the marble towers he lived in, our home must have looked impossibly small.
But he didn't seem to notice.
His attention was fixed on the framed photographs covering one wall.
Pictures of my childhood.
My high school graduation.
Me pushing my mother in a wheelchair after her knee surgery years earlier.
There were no photos of my father.
There hadn't been for a long time.
"You have a lovely home," he said.
"It isn't much."
"It feels lived in."
I wasn't sure whether to believe him.
Mom disappeared into the kitchen.
"If a billionaire's knocking on my door before sunrise," she called, "he's at least getting coffee."
A minute later she returned with three mismatched mugs.
Ethan accepted one with both hands.
"Thank you."
He looked as though the warmth alone was keeping him upright.
Finally, I sat across from him.
"What happened?"
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he reached into his briefcase and placed a folded newspaper on the table.
The front page stopped my heart.
BLACKWOOD HEIRS LEFT UNATTENDED ON MANHATTAN STREET. BILLIONAIRE FATHER UNDER FIRE.
There was a blurry photograph.
Me.
The twins.
The popcorn bags.
Someone had taken it from across the street.
"Oh my God..."
"It was online before midnight," Ethan said quietly.
"Every news outlet picked it up."
I kept reading.
Anonymous sources claimed the twins had been abandoned.
Some articles suggested Ethan had chosen a business meeting over his daughters.
Others accused his company of trying to suppress the story.
The comments were even worse.
Monster.
Negligent father.
Unfit parent.
Take the children away.
My stomach tightened.
"People don't know what happened."
"No."
"They're guessing."
"Yes."
"They're wrong."
He looked at me.
"Facts don't travel as quickly as outrage."
My mother muttered under her breath.
"Nothing new there."
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
"The board met until two this morning."
"Because of this?"
"They're worried shareholders will panic."
I blinked.
"Your daughters disappeared for twenty minutes, and they're worried about the stock price?"
A humorless smile crossed his face.
"Welcome to corporate America."
I felt anger rising in my chest.
Not at him.
At the people who saw frightened little girls as a public relations problem.
"So why are you here?"
He hesitated.
"Because Abigail and Vanessa refuse to eat."
I frowned.
"What?"
"They won't talk to anyone."
His voice cracked for the first time.
"They cried all night."
He looked down at his untouched coffee.
"And they keep asking for you."
The apartment fell silent.
"They're frightened," I said gently.
"I know."
"They've been through a shock."
"I know."
"They need time."
"They say..." He swallowed hard. "They say they only feel safe with Miss Victoria."
My mother quietly reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
I looked at Ethan.
"What exactly are you asking?"
He took a slow breath.
"I know this is unreasonable."
He paused again, choosing every word carefully.
"I'd like to hire you."
I stared at him.
"To do what?"
"To stay with my daughters for a few days."
I blinked.
"I clean office buildings."
"I know."
"I'm not a nanny."
"I know."
"I've never taken care of children professionally."
"I know."
"Then why me?"
His answer came without hesitation.
"Because yesterday, in the worst moment of their lives, they trusted you."
No one spoke.
"I've interviewed child psychologists, live-in nannies, private tutors, and family counselors since midnight," he continued.
"They all have perfect résumés."
"But?"
"They're strangers."
"And I'm not?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"You stopped being a stranger the moment my daughters reached for your hands instead of running away."
I looked down at my coffee.
Steam curled slowly into the air.
It sounded impossible.
Ridiculous.
Temporary.
Dangerous.
"I can't just leave my job."
"I'll compensate your employer."
"I didn't ask about money."
"I know."
"My mother needs me."
Evelyn spoke before Ethan could.
"I'll survive for a few days."
I turned toward her.
"Mom—"
She smiled softly.
"Honey... when was the last time you did something for yourself instead of everyone else?"
I didn't answer.
Because I couldn't remember.
Ethan reached into his briefcase again.
"I brought something else."
He placed a thin folder on the table.
Inside were photographs.
Not of board meetings.
Not of luxury homes.
Just pictures of the twins.
Finger painting.
Learning to ride bicycles.
Building snowmen.
Baking crooked cookies with flour all over their faces.
One photograph caught my attention.
The girls were younger, maybe three years old, sitting on a hospital bed beside a woman with kind eyes and a scarf covering her hair.
Their mother.
She was smiling despite looking painfully weak.
On the back of the photo, written in elegant handwriting, were six words:
Take care of my girls, Ethan.
My chest tightened.
"I found that after she died," he whispered.
"I've tried."
His voice broke.
"But I don't think I've been enough."
For the first time since he'd arrived, I didn't see a billionaire.
I saw a widower drowning under expectations he could never meet.
A father terrified that he was failing the only two people who mattered.
Just then, my phone buzzed on the table.
It was my supervisor.
Before I could answer, another message appeared.
Victoria, don't bother coming in today. Corporate canceled our contract with Blackwood Global this morning. Half the staff has been laid off. You're one of them.
I stared at the screen in disbelief.
May you like
Less than twelve hours after meeting Ethan Blackwood...
I no longer had a job.
