Face To Face With Justin Hunt

ELENA'S POV

My thumb hovered over the Submit button on my phone. For a moment, I hesitated, staring at the completed application form as if it held the answers to my future. With a deep breath, I pressed it. There. Done. The first step in a plan that could either save me—or ruin me.

I hadn’t slept a wink last night at the cramped hotel room I’d rented. Instead, I buried myself in research about the man who held the key to my revenge: Justin Hunt.

Twenty-eight years old. Playboy turned family man. The tabloids once painted him as someone who didn’t believe in love or commitment—until five years ago, when he shocked everyone by marrying his childhood friend. The press couldn’t get enough of him.

His family? Messy didn’t even begin to describe it. The Hunts Group of Companies was a legacy started by his great-grandfather, but its history was marred by scandals. Justin’s father, Mason Hunt, had married three wives. Justin’s mother, the third wife, gave birth to him first—but not long after, Mason’s first wife had a son, Roland.

Justin now ran the company as CEO, while Roland served as president. I couldn’t imagine what growing up in a family like that was like, but I had a hunch. My own experience with stepmothers taught me how cruel they could be. If Justin’s stepmothers were even half as vicious as mine...

Still, wealth changes things, doesn’t it? Maybe his childhood wasn’t so bad after all.

The more I uncovered about Justin, the more certain I became of one thing: even if I secured the nanny position, it might not be enough to win his attention—let alone convince him to help me take down my stepmother. But I had to try.

“Getting this job is just the first step,” I whispered to myself.

I spent hours poring over potential interview questions and brushing up on every skill that could come up for a nanny position. The interview process, scheduled to span four days, would test everything—cooking, communication, experience, cleaning, and even medical aptitude. And on the final day? Justin himself would judge the remaining candidates.

The stakes couldn’t be higher.

By the third day, only a handful of us were left. One by one, people were sent home, and with each elimination, the weight of the competition pressed harder on my chest.

That afternoon, after finishing the day’s test, I walked toward the estate’s grand gates, ready to leave. Then came the sound of tyres crunching over gravel. I turned, pausing as a sleek black car pulled into the driveway. Then another. And another. A total of four luxury cars rolled in, their presence a quiet declaration of power and wealth.

The doors opened, and people began stepping out—assistants, security guards, drivers. And then, finally, a small figure emerged.

Noah.

I recognized him instantly. Justin Hunt’s son.

He was the picture of innocence, clutching an iPad as he hopped gracefully down from the car. His movements were precise and deliberate. Even at his young age, he carried himself like someone who knew the world was watching.

For a moment, he seemed engrossed in his game. Then, as if sensing my gaze, he stopped and looked up—directly at me.

My heart skipped. There was something about the boy, something unexplainable, that melted the walls I’d built around myself.

Without thinking, I waved a small, uncertain gesture.

His face brightened immediately.

“Ma’am!” His voice rang out, clear and cheerful.

The security guards around him froze, eyes darting between me and the boy. Before anyone could react, Noah broke into a run, heading straight for me.

“Wait! Noah!” one of the guards shouted, rushing after him.

Noah ignored them, his little legs moving with determined speed until he reached me.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a polite bow, his wide smile lighting up his face.

I couldn’t help but smile back. “Good afternoon, Noah.”

The guards caught up a moment later, positioning themselves between us like I was some sort of threat.

“Step back, Noah,” one of them urged, his tone firm.

“Who are you?” another asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

Before I could answer, Noah stood tall, his small voice cutting through the tension.

“She’s my friend.”

The guards exchanged baffled looks, their rigid postures softening just slightly. I, on the other hand, could only stand there, stunned.

Friend? The word lingered in my mind, warm and unexpected. I hadn’t expected this little boy—Justin Hunt’s son—to look at me with such trust.

“What is going on here?” a commanding voice cut through the confusion, silencing everyone.

The security guards instantly released me and bowed toward the speaker.

I turned to face her—and froze.

Standing before me was a woman of striking beauty, poised and elegant. She looked to be in her early forties, dressed in an ensemble that screamed wealth: a tailored designer dress, diamond-studded jewellery, and an aura of authority that made the air feel heavier.

I recognized her immediately. Hailey Hunt. Justin Hunt’s mother.

Her sharp eyes assessed me, moving slowly from my face to my shoes. She didn’t need to say anything for me to feel the weight of her judgment.

“Who is she?” she asked, her tone clipped, directing her question to the security team.

One of the guards straightened, gesturing toward me. “That’s what we were trying to determine, ma’am.”

Hailey’s gaze pinned me in place. “Well?”

“I... I’m one of the applicants for the nanny position,” I stammered, my voice barely steady.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression both sceptical and disdainful. “And yet, my grandson seems to know you.”

“Mrs. Hunt,” one of the guards interjected cautiously, “Noah seems to recognize her from somewhere.”

Her lips thinned as she turned back to me, her stare cutting like glass. “How could someone like you possibly know my grandson?”

Her words stung more than they should have. The disgust in her voice was unmistakable like I was something scraped off her designer shoes.

My throat tightened. I wanted to respond, but anything I said could ruin my chances of getting the position. I swallowed hard, choosing silence.

Before the tension could thicken further, the low hum of approaching cars filled the air.

Everyone turned as another convoy of sleek vehicles rolled into the driveway. The first car stopped, and a driver quickly exited to open the passenger door.

My breath hitched. I recognized the driver.

It was him. The man I had met at my stepsister’s wedding.

The memory flickered like a weak lightbulb in my mind, accompanied by a sudden, searing headache. I winced, my vision blurring as flashes of the past assaulted me:

“…Are you okay, miss?”

“…You jumped into the road first…”

The image sharpened: the same driver, his hands gripping my arms, helping me to my feet.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered, clutching my head as the headache subsided.

“Are you unwell?” Hailey’s sharp voice cut through the haze, but I couldn’t focus on her.

“Daddy!” Noah’s voice shattered my trance, high-pitched and joyous.

I looked up just in time to see him sprinting toward a tall, commanding figure stepping out of the car. Justin Hunt.

He crouched to scoop Noah into his arms, his large hands cradling the boy with a gentleness that didn’t match the sharp intensity of his presence. He brushed his fingers lightly through Noah’s hair, offering him a soft, reassuring smile.

And then, Justin’s gaze shifted.

It landed on me.

For a moment, I thought I must have been mistaken. I glanced behind me, expecting someone else to be the focus of his attention. But no—his eyes were fixed on mine, unwavering and intense.

My heart thudded in my chest. He didn’t look away.

Does he recognize me from the wedding?