Emery’s POV
Landon finds me in the nursery, dark circles carved beneath my eyes, trying to get Elsie to take a bottle she doesn't want.
"I have a solution," he says from the doorway.
I don't look up. "Unless it involves your mother spontaneously relocating to another continent, I'm not interested."
"Better." He steps into the room and crouches beside me, his hand finding my knee. "I hired someone."
My entire body goes rigid. The last time someone was "hired" for my benefit, Helena appeared like a gift-wrapped spy. "Landon, if this is another one of your mother's—"
"It's not." His voice is firm. "I found her myself. Vetted her myself. She has impeccable references, but more importantly—" He pauses, making sure I'm looking at him. "No ties to the Remington network. None. She's never worked for anyone my mother knows."
I want to believe him. God, I want to. But trust has become a luxury I can't afford in this house.
"What's her name?"
"Harmony." He stands and extends his hand to help me up. "She's waiting in the library. I'd like you to meet her."
The woman sitting in the library is not what I expected.
She's young—close to my age, maybe a year or two older—with warm brown skin and sharp, intelligent eyes that seem to catalog everything without judgment. When she sees us enter, she rises with an easy smile that somehow cuts through the suffocating heaviness of this house.
"Mrs. Remington." She extends her hand, her grip firm and confident. "I'm Harmony. It's good to meet you."
"Emery," I correct automatically, then catch myself. When did I start using my first name as a defense mechanism?
Harmony's smile doesn't waver. "Emery, then."
We sit, and she tells me about her background—early childhood education degree, five years working with families abroad, a passion for child development that sounds genuine rather than rehearsed. I listen for the tells, the rehearsed phrases, the subtle glances toward the door that would indicate she's already been briefed by Portia's people.
I find nothing.
"Can I ask you something?" I interrupt her mid-sentence about sleep schedules.
"Of course."
"Why here? Why the Remingtons?" I lean forward, studying her face. "You could work for any family. Why choose one that's been in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons?"
Harmony holds my gaze without flinching. "Because I've worked in houses like this before. Houses where money builds walls instead of bridges. And I've seen what happens to the children caught in the crossfire." She pauses, something softening in her expression. "I came here for her. Not for the name on the paycheck."
Before I can respond, the library door swings open and Lily glides in, her phone raised like she's mid-documentation of her own life.
"Oh." She stops when she sees us, her eyes traveling over Harmony with barely concealed disdain. "I didn't realize we were conducting interviews in the family library now."
"Harmony is Elsie's new nanny," Landon says, his voice carrying a warning Lily chooses to ignore.
"How lovely." Lily settles into an armchair with performative grace, crossing her legs. "I do hope she understands how things work around here. The help should know their place, after all."
The silence that follows is razor-sharp. I feel my hands clench in my lap, the familiar helpless rage rising in my chest.
But Harmony doesn't flinch. She doesn't drop her eyes or mumble an apology or glance toward the door for escape.
Instead, she tilts her head slightly and smiles—bright, unbothered, almost cheerful.
"You know, I've always found that the people most concerned with 'place' are usually the ones worried about losing theirs." She stands, smoothing her shirt with casual ease. "Emery, shall we go meet Elsie? I'd love to see the nursery."
Lily's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Nothing comes out.
I watch her flounder for a response, and something unfamiliar stirs in my chest. Not triumph—nothing so clean as that. But something adjacent to hope. The beginning of trust.
"Yes," I manage, rising to my feet. "Let me show you the way."
We leave Lily speechless in the library, and I don't look back.
That evening, I stand alone in the nursery while Elsie naps, watching shadows lengthen across the walls. The exhaustion has settled into my bones now, a weight I can't shake no matter how many hours I sleep.
I don't hear Harmony approach until she speaks.
"You look tired."
I turn to find her in the doorway, her expression thoughtful rather than pitying.
"I am tired." The admission costs me nothing; the truth is written all over my face anyway. "I've been tired since I walked back through those gates."
She moves into the room quietly, checking on Elsie with the ease of someone who genuinely cares rather than someone performing a duty. When she straightens, she meets my eyes with something that feels like recognition.
"Big houses have long memories," she says softly. "And the people who clean them remember everything."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication.
I search her face for an angle, for the manipulation I've learned to expect from everyone in this house. I find only steadiness. Only understanding.
"What are you saying?" I ask carefully.
"I'm saying that walls have ears. That staff talk when they think no one important is listening." She moves closer, lowering her voice. "And that sometimes the most powerful people in a house aren't the ones whose names are on the deed."
My heart pounds against my ribs. Recently I made a decision to dig. To excavate the secrets buried in this family's foundation. And now, standing in my daughter's nursery with shadows stretching long across the floor, I realize I may have just found the shovel.
"You've worked in houses like this before," I say slowly. "You know how they operate."
"I know how they survive." Her expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes sharpens. "And I know what brings them down."
I look at Elsie, peaceful in her crib, oblivious to the war being waged around her. Then I look at Harmony—this woman who appeared from nowhere, who doesn't flinch at Lily's cruelty, who speaks in riddles that sound remarkably like promises.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you looked at me today like I was another enemy." She shrugs, almost gentle. "And I wanted you to know I'm not."
I hold her gaze for a long moment, measuring, weighing, deciding.
Then I nod.
I have found something more valuable than a nanny. I have found an ally.