Love's incandescence

Baxon's POV

“I just want to know what the hell is going on, Baxon!”

My twin brother's voice was a blade of ice, cutting through the opulent silence of the Cavendish Sky Tower Residence. I stopped pacing the length of the living area, rubbing the tension from the back of my neck. Julian had the paper Isabella-Amanda Quispe, I had to remind myself-had given me crumpled in his fist.

“I’m just as thrilled as you are, Jule,” I muttered, my gaze sweeping over the panoramic view of the city. The lights felt cold tonight, reflecting the pit in my stomach. “It’s Víctor Salvatierra calling, not Amanda. And I already knew Mom was restless, but I thought she’d stick to the usual, you know? A weekend trip to the coast, another one of her spiritual retreats.”

Julian flung the paper onto the glass coffee table with a sharp exhale that was almost a hiss. "This isn't restless, Baxon. This is an orchestrated vanishing act. 'A long vacation with some guy named Jean Pierre Valdez'?" He repeated the name with a perfect dismissive curl of his lip. "The woman is supposed to be an heir to half a billion in holdings, and she's running off with a phantom from a chat room. It's pathetic. It's a liability. And it's not her."

I walked over, picked up the paper, and smoothed the creases. "You saw the email, Jule. She sounded…excited. Maybe a little manic. But it's her handwriting, her flowery way of saying she's gone to find herself and might elope." I forced a light tone, though it sounded hollow. "We should be happy. She finally gets to stop pretending to be a secretary and an Uber driver just to prove she's 'grounded'."

Julian turned, his clear, intense blue eyes pinning me. He and I looked near identical-the same chiselled features and dark hair-but the look in his eyes was always the divider. My own were usually warm, if guarded; his were always analytical, cold.

“Don’t be an idiot, Baxon. Our mother doesn’t do anything without a reason that will benefit her at the end. A spur-of-the-moment weeks-long silent retreat is not her style. Leaving Tifania without a word, without any contingency plan, is not her style. Not even for a new lover. We have to concentrate on what she left behind.” He pointed at the crumpled paper. “This is the only piece of clean information she gave us. We need a nanny for Tifania. A live-in one. Urgently.

I snorted, leaning back against the sleek marble countertop of the kitchen. "A live-in nanny? You want to bring some stranger into the Sky Tower? Jule, we have enough secrets tucked away in the Blackwell Vault as it is. We barely tolerate Amanda Quispe knowing the password to the wine cellar. A live-in nanny is a security threat, a walking liability, and probably an endless distraction.

“You'd rather forget Tifania exists?” Julian shot back, his voice slipping to a deadly low. “Because if we're as fond of our little sister as we are, it means nothing when it comes to being her guardians. We have the firm, we have college to finish—and our business to attend to. Cavendish International Holdings doesn't run itself, and the Salvatierra contract is looming over us. We can't afford to play Tifania's brother-dads right now. We need someone level-headed, someone who can keep her steady until this whole absurd 'vacation' blows over.”

"So, who did you call?" I asked, holding up the paper. "A 'Whitford Placement Bureau'? Sounds like a glorified babysitter agency that charges a fortune."

"I called them five minutes ago. They had a referral from one of their affiliate agencies who deals with 'urgent placements'," Julian explained, crossing his arms. "They're sending someone over for an immediate interview. She's on her way up right now. Name is Kathy Montalvo."

The name sounded utterly generic, and I felt a prickle of unease. "Well, I hope she's better than the last agency we used. Remember the one who thought she was a social media influencer?"

“This one is supposedly a promising student of child psychology. She’s young, single, and apparently has a track record of ‘high compliance’ with previous—albeit strange—clients,” Julian said as he consulted the chronometer on his wrist. “She arrives on the top floor in less than a minute. Try to look less like a disgruntled corporate warlord, Baxon. We need to appear normal. We need to appear harmless.”

"Harmless," I repeated, giving him a tight skeptical smile. "I don't think either of us knows how to wear that face anymore, Jule."

I was just about to pull out my phone and run a quick, discreet background check on this Kathy Montalvo when the private elevator to the penthouse chimed its arrival. Julian’s posture straightened, the cool, reserved CEO taking over.

I, however, felt a strange, electric anticipation as I watched the hallway leading to the Sky Tower Residence door. It wasn't just about a nanny. It was a disruption to the careful, dangerous balance we had built.

Julian opened the door before I even had time to fully compose myself.

My breath hitched. Standing there wasn't the frumpy overqualified old woman I'd half-expected nor the giddy over-tanned co-ed I'd feared.

She was tiny, but her physique was lean with a silent strength. Her eyes were large, an arresting green, and they stared into mine with a weight that felt more like shock than acknowledgement. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, but even that couldn't conceal the striking angles of her features. There was a faint, almost imperceptible scar tracing the edge of her collarbone-a jagged line that felt like a clue I wanted to uncover.

She was beautiful. And completely out of place.

I could feel Julian beside me, completely still, observing her with the same sharp, assessing scrutiny he usually reserved for a multi-million-dollar deal.

The tension was instant, thick and palpable, like heat that made the silence in the doorway almost unbearable.

"Good evening," Julian said, his voice pitched just right between professional and charming. "You must be Kathy Montalvo."

She swallowed, the movement drawing my attention to the slender line of her neck. Her voice, when it came, was low and steady, laced with a surprising resilience.

“Yes. I’m Kathy. I was told this was an urgent position.” She met Julian’s eyes, but her gaze flickered back to mine almost instantly, hanging on for a fraction of a second too long.

Strike one, Montalvo. You're looking for a reaction.

“It is,” I cut in, stepping forward just slightly closer to her and wanting to break the equilibrium Julian had established. I offered a lazy, inviting smile. “I’m Baxon Cavendish, and this is my brother Julian. I trust you know what you’re walking into.” She tilted her head, the spark in her green eyes a challenge. 

"I know I'm walking into an interview for a live-in nanny position. I don't think I could be more prepared for that, Mr. Cavendish. Unless," she paused, and the air between us crackled, "there's something you haven't told the agency." My smile broadened, but didn't reach my eyes. Oh, she's good. She sees it already.

 “There always is, Ms. Montalvo,” Julian said, stepping forward now, too, placing himself slightly in front of me-a protective shield between her and the dangerous curiosity he knew was stirring in my gut. 

“Why don’t you come in and tell us why you think you’re the right person to care for our sister, Tifania?”