Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns

The tie was silk, a deep midnight blue that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Althea smoothed it down against Easton's chest, her fingers brushing the crisp cotton of his shirt. He didn't look at her. He was busy scrolling through emails on his phone, his jaw set in that permanent line of impatience that had defined their mornings for the last three years. Althea reached for his cuffs to fasten the links. That was when she saw it. Caught in the fabric of his dark suit jacket, right near the wrist, was a single strand of hair. It was long. It was blonde. And it was definitely not hers. Althea's hair was a dark, chestnut brown, currently pulled back into the severe, practical bun Easton preferred because he said loose hair looked "messy" at official functions. Her breath hitched, a tiny, jagged sound in the quiet of the massive walk-in closet. She went to pick it off, her fingers trembling slightly. Bzzzt. Easton's phone vibrated. He jerked his arm away before she could touch the evidence. "We're late, Althea," he said, his voice clipped. He finally glanced at her, his eyes sweeping over her beige dress with a look of mild disappointment. "Try not to blend into the wallpaper tonight. The Harringtons are hosting, not hiding." He turned and walked out. Althea stood there, her hand suspended in mid-air, grasping at nothing. The closet felt suddenly airless, smelling of cedar and his expensive cologne-a scent that used to make her heart race, but now just made her stomach turn. She lowered her hand. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply adjusted her own pearl earrings, the ones Eleanor, her mother-in-law, had given her with the comment that they were "modest enough for her station." Althea walked down the grand staircase. The car was waiting. The ride to the charity gala was silent. Easton typed furiously on his phone. Althea looked out the window, watching the New York skyline blur into streaks of light. She felt like a ghost haunting her own life. When they arrived, the flashbulbs were blinding. A wall of noise and light erupted as the car door opened. Easton stepped out first, buttoning his jacket, the picture of the powerful, benevolent CEO. He reached a hand back, not for her, but to wave at a camera. Althea climbed out, her heels clicking on the pavement. She moved to stand beside him, practicing the smile she had perfected over five years of marriage. But before she could take her place, a figure in shimmering gold glided between them. "Easton!" Georgina Knight's voice was like champagne bubbles-bright, intoxicating, and giving Althea a headache. Georgina was wearing a dress that matched Easton's tie perfectly. The midnight blue accents on her gold gown were unmistakable. She looked like the Queen to his King. Althea, in her beige, looked like the help. "Georgina," Easton's face softened. It was a transformation that physically hurt Althea to witness. The tension left his shoulders. "You look stunning." "I had help picking the color palette," Georgina winked, linking her arm through his. She glanced back at Althea, her smile tight and predatory. "Oh, Althea. You came. That dress is... very sensible." The photographers went wild. "Mr. Harrington! Ms. Knight! Over here! Closer!" Althea was pushed to the side by a cameraman moving for a better angle. She stumbled slightly, catching her balance on a velvet rope. No one noticed. Easton and Georgina were already moving down the red carpet, a golden couple basking in the adoration of the press. Althea followed three steps behind. Inside the ballroom, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and money. Althea found a table in the corner, far away from the head table where Easton sat with Georgina and the board members. She watched them. She watched Georgina lean in to whisper something in Easton's ear. She watched him throw his head back and laugh-a genuine, deep laugh she hadn't heard directed at her in years. "Mom!" Althea snapped her head around. Holt, her four-year-old son, came tearing through the crowd. He was sweating, his expensive little tuxedo rumpled. He was clutching a limited-edition robot toy that blinked with obnoxious red lights. "Holt, slow down," Althea said, her mothering instinct kicking in. She reached into her clutch for a handkerchief. "You're sweating, baby. Come here, let me wipe your face." She reached out to dab his forehead. Holt recoiled as if she had burned him. He slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me!" he screamed. The music in the room seemed to dip, or maybe it was just Althea's hearing failing. "You'll mess up my hair! Georgina Auntie did it special!" People at the nearby tables turned to look. The whispers started. Althea froze. She lowered her hand slowly. "Holt, that's not polite. I'm your mother." Holt rolled his eyes, a gesture he had learned from his father. "Ugh, stop it," he said, his voice loud and petulant. "You're not my mom, you're just the nanny. Daddy said so." The world stopped. The clinking of silverware, the jazz band, the laughter-it all vanished into a high-pitched ringing in Althea's ears. Just the nanny. She looked up. Across the room, Easton had heard. He was looking at them, frowning. Not in anger at his son for disrespecting his mother. No. He looked annoyed that Althea was causing a scene. He made a sharp shooing motion with his hand, telling her to take the boy away. Beside him, Georgina covered her mouth with her hand, feigning shock, but her eyes were crinkled in amusement. Althea looked back at her son. Holt was already running off toward Georgina, holding up his toy for her approval. Georgina bent down and kissed his cheek, handing him a sweet from her purse. Something inside Althea snapped. It wasn't a loud crack. It was the quiet sound of a tether finally breaking after years of strain. She stood up. She didn't look at Easton. She didn't chase Holt. She turned and walked toward the exit. "Althea?" Easton's voice carried over the crowd, tinged with warning. "Where are you going? Don't make a scene." She didn't break stride. She pushed through the heavy double doors and out into the cool night air. The fountain in the courtyard bubbled cheerfully, mocking the silence in her soul. Althea stopped at the edge of the water. She looked at the diamond ring on her left hand. The Harrington family heirloom. It felt heavy, like a shackle. She slid it off. Her finger felt naked, strange, and light. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it. It hit the water with a quiet plop and sank to the bottom, settling among the pennies wished upon by people with more hope than she had left. She pulled out her phone. Her fingers dialed a number she hadn't called in five years. It rang once. Twice. "Hello?" A deep, familiar voice answered. Althea took a shuddering breath. "Bret," she said, her voice trembling but her eyes dry. "I'm done. Come get me."