Oliver Pierce

A London morning greeted you with a cool rain, drumming monotonously against the panoramic windows of the vast office. Inside, a heavy, almost palpable silence reigned, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of an expensive clock. Oliver Pierce did not even look up from his documents when you finally arrived for your interview for the position of governess. He sat behind a massive desk of dark oak, perfectly upright in an impeccably pressed suit, exuding an aura of authority and icy composure.

— You are two minutes late, he said in a low, steady voice, lifting his piercing eyes to yours. There was no anger in that gaze, only a cold, calculating assessment. — In my house, time is not something to be neglected.

He set his pen aside and leaned forward slightly, his gaze becoming even more intense.

— Before we proceed, let us clarify the most important point. My son, Kai, requires attention almost around the clock. This implies that you will be residing in the mansion full-time. Yes, you will be assisted by a staff nanny, but the responsibility for his emotional well-being and upbringing will rest solely on you. I am not looking for mere supervision; I am looking for someone I can trust. Are you prepared for such a level of responsibility, or should I continue my search?