Page 5 of Demon Daddy’s Nanny (Demon Daddies #3)

5

EVA

T he morning sun filters through the kitchen windows as I knead fresh dough, falling into an easy rhythm. Two weeks into my new position, and I've memorized the layout of every cabinet, drawer, and shelf. The countertops gleam beneath my flour-dusted hands. Not that I’m required to help in the kitchens, but I couldn’t give up something I love.

A door slams upstairs, followed by heavy footsteps. Ridwan's commanding voice echoes through the halls. "Annalise, your tutor arrives in an hour. Be presentable."

No response.

More footsteps, these lighter and faster. Annalise appears in the kitchen doorway, her platinum hair disheveled, silver eyes blazing. She yanks open the icebox, grabs a juice, and slams it shut.

"Did you hear me?" Ridwan's massive frame fills the doorway, his golden wings tucked tight against his back. The scar on his cheek stands out stark against his bronze skin.

"Yes, Father. Be presentable. Like always." Annalise doesn't look at him, instead focusing on picking at the label of her drink.

"And your assignments?"

"Completed."

"All of them?"

"Yes." Her knuckles whiten around the bottle.

Ridwan's jaw tightens. "Show me."

"They're in my room."

"Then get them."

Annalise storms past him, her own smaller wings rigid with tension. The temperature in the kitchen drops several degrees as Ridwan watches her go, his golden eyes hard as steel.

I keep kneading, trying to fade into the background, but my hands shake. Every interaction between them feels like watching a storm gather - all crackling energy and impending destruction.

Ridwan notices me then, his gaze softening a fraction. He’s always analyzing me, but he doesn’t push me, doesn’t bully me like most xaphan will. "The kitchen smells good."

"Thank you." I brush flour from my hands, painfully aware of how human I must look - no wings, no otherworldly grace, just messy hair and flushed cheeks from the oven's heat.

He nods once and leaves, his footsteps fading down the hall. Within minutes, I hear his study door close with a decisive click.

That's how it always goes. Commands. Short responses. Closed doors. The vast mansion feels more like a mausoleum than a home, with father and daughter orbiting each other like distant planets, never quite connecting.

I spend the next hour shaping loaves and watching the quiet war unfold. Annalise's tutor arrives at precisely nine, only to find an empty study. The poor man wrings his hands, pacing the halls until Ridwan emerges from his office like an oncoming storm.

I follow the sound of wings to the courtyard. Annalise perches on the edge of the fountain, her bare feet trailing in the water, platinum hair glowing in the morning light. She looks so young, so fragile despite her height and sharp edges.

"Your tutor's here." I set a plate of fresh pastries on the fountain's edge.

"I know." She traces patterns in the water. "Father's probably furious."

"He is."

"Good." But her voice cracks on the word.

I sit beside her, careful to keep space between us. The fountain bubbles behind us, masking the sound of approaching footsteps. "You know, when I was your age, I used to break my mother's plates."

Her silver eyes flick to mine. "Why?"

"Because she worked three jobs and was never home. Breaking things meant she had to stop and look at me, even if it was just to yell."

Annalise's wings twitch. "That's stupid."

"It was. But it worked, didn't it? She noticed me."

She pulls her feet from the water, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Father notices everything I do wrong."

"He notices everything you do, period. You don’t have to do anything wrong for him to see you, Annalise.”

A shadow falls across us. Ridwan stands at the courtyard entrance, his massive wings blocking the sun. "Your tutor is waiting."

Annalise's shoulders tense. She grabs a pastry and stalks past him without a word, leaving wet footprints on the stone.

Ridwan's jaw clenches as he watches her go. For a moment, something raw and painful flashes across his face - then it's gone, buried beneath layers of cold control. He turns and strides away, leaving me alone with the sound of running water and the weight of words left unsaid.

I fume all afternoon, watching father and daughter dance their familiar steps of anger and silence. When Annalise finally storms upstairs and slams her door hard enough to rattle the windows, something in me snaps.

My feet carry me down the hallway before my brain catches up. The rich carpets muffle my steps as I march straight to Ridwan's office, not bothering to knock. The heavy oak door swings open.

He sits behind his massive desk, golden wings a stark contrast against the dark leather of his chair. Papers scatter across the polished wood, illuminated by floating orbs of light. The scar on his cheek catches the glow, making it look deeper, more savage.

"She's your daughter," I snap, arms crossed tight against my chest. My heart pounds, but I force my voice steady. "Act like it."

His golden eyes narrow at the challenge, and the temperature in the room plummets. He rises slowly from his chair, unfurling to his full height. The desk between us suddenly feels very small.

"You forget your place." His voice is quiet, dangerous.

"My place?" I step forward, hands trembling. "My place is in this house, watching a child cry herself to sleep because her father can't look at her for some reason."

Ridwan's wings flare wide, casting shadows across the walls. "You know nothing about-"

"I know she breaks rules to get your attention. I know she aces every test but you only ask about the ones she fails. I know she has your wings but clearly her mother’s eyes—” His eyes are golden, not like Annalise’s. “And you can't handle either."

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Papers flutter as his power ripples through the room. "Get out."

"You can’t keep ignoring all of your problems." The words slip out before I can stop them. My heart slams against my ribs, but I plant my feet.

His eyes blaze like molten gold. He stalks around the desk, each step measured, predatory. I have to crane my neck to hold his gaze.

His power crackles through the air, making my skin prickle. The floating orbs flicker and dim, casting twisted shadows across his face. My legs want to shake, but I lock my knees.

"You know nothing of how I raise my child." His voice drops lower, a growl that vibrates in my chest.

I lift my chin. "Maybe if you actually raised her, she wouldn't be running off to strangers."

The temperature plunges. Frost creeps along the edges of the windows. His massive wings spread wider, golden feathers bristling as he towers over me. One step and he's in my space, close enough I can see the flecks of amber in his eyes, smell leather and smoke on his skin.

"Choose your next words carefully." His fingers curl at his sides. "You are a servant in this house, nothing more."

"I'm the only one who sees her." My voice rises, betraying the tremor I'm fighting to control. "While you hide in here with your papers and your meetings, she's out there trying anything to make you look at her. She might not have left the estate since I’ve come here, but it’s taken me two weeks to see something you should’ve by now. What will it take? Does she need to fall and break her neck before you notice?"

His hand shoots out, slamming against the wall beside my head. The impact shakes dust from the ceiling. "I notice everything."

"Maybe." I press my palms flat against his chest and shove. He doesn't budge, but his eyes widen at my audacity. "But you only mention her failures. Her mistakes. When's the last time you asked about her art? Her music? Did you know she composes? That she stays up late reading poetry? That she-"

"Enough." The word cracks like a whip.

"She needs her father, not her commander."

His other hand finds the wall, caging me between his arms. "You overstep."

"Someone has to." I meet his glare, refusing to shrink despite my racing pulse. "Because you're too busy being the perfect leader to see you're losing her."

I spend the rest of the evening in the kitchen, hands shaking as I aggressively knead dough and replay our confrontation. The sun sinks below the horizon, casting long shadows through the windows. My stomach churns. Any minute now, a guard will appear to escort me out. Instead, the dinner bell chimes.

I watch the other servants plate and roll dinner into the formal dining room, knowing Annalise will expect me. I share every meal with her so I won’t be alone.

With dread pooling in my stomach, I head to the dining room. The heavy doors creak open. I freeze.

Ridwan sits at the head of the massive table, his wings folded tight against the high-backed chair. Annalise is standing by her own seat, silver eyes wide as she stares at her father. The floating orbs cast a warm glow across the polished wood, highlighting the tension in both their shoulders.

My hands tremble as I take my seat. Neither speaks. Ridwan's jaw remains tight, the scar on his cheek more pronounced in the dim light. But he's here - actually sitting at the table instead of locked in his study with paperwork.

Annalise pushes food around her plate, sneaking glances at him between bites. Her wings twitch with nervous energy. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft clink of silverware.

"These vegetables are seasoned well," Ridwan says finally, his deep voice startling in the quiet.

Annalise's head snaps up. "I helped Eva harvest them in the garden.."

A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he nods. "I noticed."

The simple acknowledgment makes Annalise's wings relax slightly. She takes a real bite of food, then another. The rigid line of her spine softens degree by degree.

I don’t say a word, watching father and daughter share their first meal together in months. They barely speak - but the silence feels different now. Less like a wall and more like a bridge waiting to be crossed.

Annalise's shoulders have lost their defensive hunch. For once, she looks her age - a young girl having dinner with her father, not a soldier awaiting orders. And though Ridwan's expression remains stern, his golden eyes track her movements with something that looks almost like longing.