Chapter 4 - Rules of Engagement
The next morning, breakfast at the Vale estate looked less like a battleground and more like an armed truce.
All four boys were seated around the long mahogany dining table, actually using utensils, while Nia poured fresh orange juice from a heavy crystal pitcher. Evan glared into his bowl of oatmeal, Caleb was silently kicking the table leg under his breath, and Noah and Luke were whispering excitedly about a comic book hidden behind a napkin.
The double doors opened, and Adrian walked in, dressed in a sharp navy suit, his briefcase in hand.
The boys instantly straightened up, their chatter dying down to a tense murmur. Adrian took his seat at the head of the table, his slate-gray eyes scanning his sons before shifting to Nia.
“Good morning, Miss Carter,” Adrian said smoothly.
“Good morning, Mr. Vale,” Nia replied, setting a fresh cup of black coffee beside his saucer. “We’ve established three new household guidelines for the week.”
Adrian paused, his coffee cup hovering inches from his lips. “Guidelines?”
“Rule one: No throwing model airplanes indoors, unless they are certified by an aeronautical engineer,” Nia said without missing a beat, glancing pointedly at Caleb. “Rule two: No pulling fire alarms unless actual flames are visible. And rule three: If you want to throw a tantrum, you must schedule it between three and three-fifteen in the afternoon so it doesn't interfere with snack time.”
A dead silence fell over the dining room.
Even Evan stopped stirring his oatmeal. The boys stared at Nia as if she had just spoken ancient Sumerian. Nobody talked to their father like that. Nobody made rules at him.
Adrian slowly set his coffee cup down. A muscle ticked along his jawline.
He looked at Nia, then looked down at his sons, who were watching him with wide, terrified eyes, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Instead, a deep, resonant rumble of laughter broke from Adrian’s chest.
It was the first real laugh Nia had heard him emit since she arrived—a rich, genuine sound that chased the coldness out of the massive stone room.
“Schedule your tantrums between three and three-fifteen,” Adrian repeated, shaking his head slowly as a genuine smile touched his mouth. “Noted, Miss Carter. I’ll make sure my meetings don't conflict.”
Evan’s jaw dropped. Caleb looked like he had seen a ghost.
“You’re dismissed for school,” Adrian told the boys, his voice returning to its normal authority. “And listen to Miss Carter today. That is not a request.”
As the boys scrambled out of the dining room in a hurried, orderly stampede, Adrian looked up at Nia.
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“You’re dangerous, Miss Carter,” he murmured, his gray eyes darkening with a sudden, intense heat that had nothing to do with domestic discipline.
“Only to people who can't handle a little organization, Mr. Vale,” Nia replied smoothly, picking up the juice pitcher.
