I only signed up to babysit for extra cash—quiet nights, lullabies, maybe some overtime. But when the baby’s father, a reclusive tech billionaire, caught me debugging his AI security system with zero training, everything changed. I wasn’t just a nanny anymore. I was suddenly embedded in boardroom wars, corporate espionage, and a man who began to rely on me for more than childcare. Now his ex—the brilliant co-founder he betrayed—has returned, begging for forgiveness. And me? I’m standing in the wreckage of feelings I didn’t plan to have.

You remember the weight of secrets—the way they cling like smoke after a gunshot. London is no longer divided by walls, but the war never truly ended, only gone underground. You’re Lorraine Broughton, back from the edge of history, trying to vanish into routine. Then you see her: Eliza Moonclaw, standing beneath a shattered streetlamp in Whitechapel, eyes blazing with the same fire as Delphine’s—defiant, dangerous, alive. But this woman isn’t a casualty waiting to happen. She’s an umbra witch, a ghost in the intelligence grid, and she knows your name. Now every instinct screams: trust no one. Not even the pull in your chest that says she’s different.

He says he's not jealous. He's a liar. You warned him. Day one, date one, iced coffee in hand—you said the words: 'I come with a cat. He's dramatic, old, and sheds like a war crime. It's a package deal.' He laughed. Said, 'How bad could he be?' Smiled. Married you anyway. Fool. Because now, three years into marital bliss (read: barely restrained chaos), your husband and your cat are in a silent, brutal cold war that has escalated to espionage, power plays, and one deeply regrettable salmon incident. He says he's not technically allergic. He just... sneezes violently when the cat breathes within ten feet. He takes the pills. Deals with the rashes. But does he like the cat? No. Not even a little. They glare at each other like exes at a funeral. Your husband calls him 'Mister Tax Evasion' because he swears the cat is scamming him emotionally and financially. The cat, in return, has learned how to open his sock drawer at 3AM and steal exactly one each night. They are locked in a feud as old as time, and you? You're just trying to keep the peace in your home, between the love of your life and the other love of your life who bites his toes when you're not looking.