A strip of light shines from beneath the study door, obnoxiously bright in the darkness of the manor. Mr. Monte rarely works this late. After a year of working for the family, you know their habits, the way they lived. You know that Mr. Monte – "call me Alejandro, darling" – always drank an iced espresso with insane shots to get him ready for the day.

You know that Valerie - his wife - likes to finish the week with a ludicrously expensive bottle of róse, often hosting her friends around the ornate marble countertops in the kitchen.

You also know that their marriage is not a happy one. As a nanny to their two children, not much manages to creep past you about the inhabitants of the luxurious home you shared, and there's one thing you're absolutely certain of. Valerie Monte was growing to resent her husband. The two of them had worked hard for their millions but Mr. Monte, it seems, hasn't stopped.

You barely see him outside of his study or away from his office downtown. Sure, he makes time for his kids, but that's when you weren't needed. They love him, clamouring for him whenever he walks through the door, showing off their latest school work or drawings they'd been preparing for him. You retreated to your bedroom in those situations; listening to the terse exchanges you'd hear between husband and wife in the hallway after dark.

Valerie's words from the previous Friday came back to you as you stand outside the study: swirling the blush-coloured liquid in her cup, stem held delicately between expertly manicured nails. Her friends nodding and pouting in sympathy, her dissatisfaction towards her husband quite apparent as you made dinner quietly in the corner.

"Fantastic father, you guys know that. But he's married to his career. Not to me. Not for a long time."

The look on her face told you everything you needed to know. You'd seen it before with your girlfriends, felt it before yourself when your relationship with your college boyfriend had run its course. She's checked out mentally already.

You'd overheard her again one day when you'd been doing laundry, whispering on the phone about her plans. "There's a guy at work", she'd giggled. "Alaric from Accounting. Is this what it's like to have someone who actually wants you?" You weren't getting involved. It wasn't your place as a nanny.

Besides, Mr. Monte is always good to you, paying you more than you'd ever dreamed of, asking how your day was going on the rare occasion you see him around the grand home they've invited you to live in. For the most part, he stays out of your way.

You just admire him from afar. You know he's thirty-six; you'd helped the kids sign his birthday card last year. He's a whole seventeen years your senior, but the fact he is incredibly handsome was never lost to you. Taller, broader, bigger than you but never imposing.

A crush on a much-older man who employs you to work in his own home? A terrible idea, to be honest. So, you don't indulge it; ignoring your daydreams about him in the other wing of the house, sharing a bed with a wife who no longer loves him.

You shift from foot to foot now, as the floorboard creaks beneath you. Valerie hadn't been home all day, a note left to say Mr. Monte and the children were the only ones who'd need dinner. You wonder, idly, if she was with Alaric from Accounting right now, drawing up the divorce papers and planning how to split the childcare.

So, you'll simply knock on the study door, just to see if Mr. Monte is okay, let him know you've finished for the day. "That'll be fine, right?" Your fist connects lightly with the smooth oak, and you hear his low voice telling you to step inside.

"Hey, Mr. Monte. The girls are sleeping, so I'm gonna turn in for the night. There's food already made for you if you wanted anything to-"

"Can I ask a question?" His interruption comes as a surprise, until he turns in his chair. He looks.. defeated. His thick-rimmed glasses in one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. White dress shirt unbuttoned with his chest exposed, tie pulled loose and his shoulders slouched dejectedly.

"Of course, sir." You respond as you chew your lip, standing in front of his desk, his gaze bloodshot and broken. You twist your hands, feeling your palms begin to sweat.

"Did you know about my wife wanting a divorce?" He'd never been this direct, never really asked you anything other than "how was your weekend?" This is new.

Apparently Valerie had called him. It was over. There was someone else, had been for a while. She'd taken a bag of clothes to her mom's. Would come by in the morning to see the children. He tells you the facts, tone laced with bitterness as he scrubs a hand across his face.

You feign innocence, wide eyes and a slight frown at all the right times. It was truly a mess: she blindsided him, and it showed. "I know I shouldn't have been workin' so late all the time, that I probably should've paid her more goddamn attention." He sighs. "I guess we were struggling, but I thought that came with us being parents, y'know?"

You nod encouragingly, even though you didn't know. This is the most Mr. Monte had ever spoken to you, pouring his heart out to the girl he pays to look after his babies. You're not even sure he knows your surname.

"If this is what she really wants, I won't stop her. It's just – the kids. I don't want them thinking badly of me." You fight a strange urge to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows, take his face in your hands. You're unsure what's come over you, you know he's a grown man — much more grown than you.

"Mr. Monte, they'd never think that. You're the best daddy ever — that's what they tell me every single day." You babble, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "It's probably for the best in the long run. If – if she isn't happy." Fuck, you've said too much!

He blinks slowly at you, eyes shining in the reflection of the low lamplight. "If you say so, sweetheart." Sweetheart.

You shift your focus away from the feeling the name gives you, the butterflies that begin to drift in your belly. He's so handsome: you'd like to be his darling, his sweetheart. You wonder what else you could be for him.

"Been trying to guess how long she's been screwin' some other fucker behind my back, too. Makes me feel like a damned fool." He pinches the bridge of his nose again as he speaks, elbows set on his thighs.

In truth Valerie and her paramour couldn't be further from your mind: he's here and you want to help him feel better in any way you can. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, Mr. Monte?"

He chuckles. "Start by stop calling me 'Mr. Monte', I've told you already, it isn't necessary."

"At least I made you smile," You teased, eyebrows raised. Your hand subconsciously finds his shoulder and he moves to rest his over it. His palm is large and swallows yours whole; warm and rough as he squeezes. Despite yourself and his obvious anguish, a buzz of desire claws at your spine. You're standing over him now, watching as his eyes find your waist and the curve of your chest.

Your breathing becomes slightly heavy, unsure how to feel. Something changes in his cold blue gaze; a split decision being made. You're flustered by the realization of how badly you want him and how much you shouldn't.

"You really want to help me, eh?" He asks, voice barely a murmur and you know he's offering you a choice. Something tells you that Mr. Monte – Alejandro – would never make you do anything you didn't want to do — that you could trust him.

Eyes falling onto the broad expanse of his exposed chest, the thick biceps in his dress shirt, you know you want this. Just as much as he does.

"Yes," You respond breathy. "I really do."

Something passes between you two. Unspoken but shared in its secrecy. You're confident he's doing this out of spite, a form of payback at the woman who left him for someone else. But your panties are wet and you're past caring.

"Lock the door darling."