Abigail's POV

If gratitude could be bottled, Trevor deserved a lifetime's supply.

"I still can't believe you did this," I said, clutching my coffee mug like it might stop my heart from sprinting. He'd called me out to my favorite café and dropped the best news I'd heard in weeks.

"You didn't just get me a job, Trevor. You got me the job at the Castillo Group no less. You do realize that's the corporate equivalent of Mount Olympus, right?"

Trevor chuckled, leaning against the counter with that smug grin of his. "You make it sound like I handed you the moon. It's just a job, Abby."

"It's not just a job." I pointed a finger at him. "It's a full-time caregiver position for Alberto Castillo. You know, the patriarch of the entire empire your company practically worships?"

He laughed, but I caught the glint of pride in his eyes. "I work in HR, remember? It wasn't that hard to pull a few strings. They needed someone experienced. You fit perfectly."

I exhaled, warmth blooming in my chest. "I owe you one. No, I owe you ten."

"You owe me nothing." His tone softened. "You just need a fresh start, Abby. And this is it. Don't mess it up."

"I won't." I smiled faintly. "This time, I'll make it work."

He grinned. "That's the spirit. Oh, and... you'll have to report to the Castillo estate every morning. Six a.m. sharp. The old man's schedule is stricter than a Swiss clock."

"Six a.m.?" I groaned. "Guess sleep and I are breaking up again."

*****

Later, after we said goodbye, the city quiet felt louder than usual.

And like clockwork, my mind drifted.

Because somewhere between my footsteps and the hum of traffic, he slipped in again-the man with the dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate.

"Chocolate eyes," I muttered under my breath, instantly regretting it. "God, I need to stop calling him that."

But what else could I call him?

I never got his name.

A stranger who'd looked at me like I was something rare-something worth burning for.

He made me forget everything heavy and broken for one reckless night.

And then I ran.

Like a coward.

"You did the right thing," I whispered to myself. "You're not that kind of girl. You don't do one-night stands. You don't wake up in hotel rooms with strangers."

Still, my chest tightened. I could almost feel his gaze again, tracing heat down my skin.

"Not that it matters," I added with a scoff. "You'll never see him again."

I told myself that three more times on the walk home.

It still didn't stick.

*****

The following Monday, I stood at the gates of the Castillo estate just before sunrise, clutching my tote like it was armor.

The mansion looked like it had been built to intimidate-marble floors, endless windows, and manicured gardens that could have belonged in a museum. I half expected a guard to stop me and say I was in the wrong place.

Instead, a maid led me through a sunlit foyer that smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood. Every step echoed, reminding me that I was very much out of my league.

And yet, somehow, the air felt calm-almost peaceful.

There were flowers on every landing: lilies, orchids, roses. Someone tended to them with care.

My heart softened. If I worked here, I'd definitely volunteer for garden duty.

We stopped at a set of double doors. The maid gave a short nod. "Mr. Castillo will see you now."

Right. Showtime.

I wiped my sweaty palms against my skirt and stepped inside.

Alberto Castillo sat behind a mahogany desk that looked older than my entire apartment complex. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his posture straight despite the cane propped beside him. 

For a man in his seventies, he carried himself like he still ruled empires.

Which, technically, he did.

"Miss Davenport," he greeted, his voice low but slightly rough. "You're early."

I straightened my shoulders. "Yes, sir. I believe punctuality is part of professionalism."

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Good answer."

He gestured for me to sit. "I don't need someone hovering every second, Miss Davenport. I may have a medical condition, but I'm not helpless."

"I understand," I said gently. "You just need someone to make sure you stay strong enough to prove that."

That earned me a real smile. "You have a sharp tongue."

I winced. "I prefer to think of it as honesty. Polite honesty."

That made him laugh, a low, surprised sound that softened his features. "Polite honesty," he repeated. "I like that. You'll do just fine."

He went on to outline my duties-monitoring his medication, assisting him with mobility when necessary, and keeping track of his symptoms. It was straightforward enough. But I could tell he didn't like the idea of anyone seeing him as weak.

When the meeting ended, he stood and offered his hand. His grip was firm, if slightly trembling.

"Welcome to the Castillo estate, Miss Davenport."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."

"Martha will show you around," he said, waving me off as I stepped back into the hallway-relieved, intrigued, and strangely protective already.

*****

Martha, the housekeeper, was waiting in the hall, her kind smile grounding me instantly.

"Don't mind the old man," she said as we walked. "He acts like he's carved from stone, but underneath, he's soft as warm butter."

I laughed. "I think I caught a glimpse of that."

"Good. You'll need that insight," she said knowingly. "Come on, I'll show you around."

We passed through the massive kitchen, where staff were prepping dinner. The smell of garlic and butter made my stomach rumble.

"The estate is massive," I said, unable to hide my awe.

Martha's smile was tinged with pride. "It's home. You'll get used to it soon enough."

We entered a bright breakfast room where two girls sat at the long table.

"Abigail, these are Mr. Castillo's grandchildren," Martha announced.

Two teenage girls turned toward me-identical faces, opposite energies.

"Emilia and Esmeralda," Martha said with fondness. "Seventeen, and far too clever for their own good."

Emilia, composed and perfectly poised, offered a polite smile. "Welcome," she said coolly. "I hope you'll help Abuelo stay... comfortable." 

Esmeralda grinned, spinning a pencil between her fingers. "Ignore her. She's just mad Abuelo finally hired someone younger than his doctor. I'm Esme. Love your hair."

"Thank you," I said, laughing softly.

Before I could say more, a small boy burst into the room, his curls bouncing and a toy helicopter in hand.

"Are you the new doctor?" he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Something like that," I smiled. 

He studied me seriously, then nodded. "You look like you plant things."

That startled a laugh out of me. "I do, actually."

"Good." He gave a decisive nod before dashing back down the hall.

"Crew," Martha said fondly. "Mr. Castillo's great-grandson. His mother's away on business."

"He's sweet," I murmured.

"Sweet and unstoppable," Esmeralda said. "Good luck keeping up."

Emilia rolled her eyes. "Come on, Esme. Abuelo's waiting." The twins left in a flurry of whispered bickering that made me smile.

"They'll grow on you," Martha said, leading me on.

"I hope so," I replied. "They seem... spirited."

She chuckled as we continued on the tour.

The hallways were lined with oil portraits-men and women who shared the same sharp and striking features.

Then one painting made me pause.

A younger version of Mr. Castillo stood beside a beautiful woman, his arm around her waist. There was something hauntingly familiar in the way his eyes looked out from the canvas-dark, magnetic, intense.

The same kind of eyes that had once looked at me from across a bar.

I blinked, shaking the thought away. "Weird," I whispered.

"What's that, dear?" Martha asked.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just... he looks familiar, that's all."

Martha smiled knowingly. "Mr. Castillo tends to have that effect on people."

"Yeah," I murmured. "I bet he does."

That wasn't it. I was sure. 

But I brushed the thought to the back of my mind. 

*****

By the time I clocked out that evening, the sun was setting behind the estate's fountain. Alberto had taken his medication, eaten dinner, and pretended not to like my company while secretly enjoying our small talk about his younger days in Spain.

As I walked to the giant gates, I felt... lighter.

Like maybe this wasn't just another job. Maybe this was the start of something that might finally, finally go right.

And yet, as I walked through the gates, my mind wandered to the beautiful, dangerous stranger who turned my insides to liquid.

The stranger with the dark eyes and the quiet fire.

The one I'd convinced myself I'd never see again.

Christian's POV

The Castillo estate looked exactly as I remembered it. Too big, too bright and too full of ghosts.

Eden. 

That was what my grandfather liked to call it, as if giving it a biblical name made it less suffocating. 

The stone walls still gleamed like money. The manicured lawns stretched endlessly under the morning sun. And the gates-those damn gates-swung open as if they'd been waiting for me to finally stop running.

I almost didn't come back.

If it hadn't been for the phone call-Martha's voice trembling as she told me Abuelo had been unwell-I would still be in Camden, pretending London was a lifetime ago and not just a plane ride away.

But here I was.

It had been years, and yet standing here again felt like no time had passed at all. Same house. Same air. Same ghosts.

The tires crunched against the gravel as I pulled up to the front steps. I sat for a long moment, hands locked around the steering wheel, staring at the house that had been both home and hell.

London had taught me composure-how to wear calm like armor-but the air here was heavier. It pressed on my chest like memory.

By the time I stepped out of the car, my mask was already in place. The cold, composed Castillo everyone expected.

The scent hit first-pine, polish, and something faintly floral. My mother's scent.

For a split second, the years fell away: her laughter in the hallway, sunlight on her hair, then blood-and then nothing. I shoved the memory back where it belonged. Some wounds don't heal; you just learned to walk without touching them.

The front doors swung open.

Alberto Castillo, silver hair perfectly combed, cane in hand, stood tall and proud despite the years.

"Christian," he said, his voice gravelly but warm. "Mi niño. You're finally home."

The old man didn't wait for me to move. He pulled me into an embrace. For a heartbeat, I froze, then let him. His cologne-cedarwood and time-brought a sting to my chest.

"Abuelo," I said softly, stepping back before the moment lingered too long. "You look good."

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Don't lie to an old man. London's made you taller... and colder, I think."

"Occupational hazard," I said with a half-smile.

"Still that mouth," he said with affection. "Come. Everyone's waiting. They'll be happy to see you."

The foyer was alive with sound-voices, laughter, the shuffle of footsteps on marble. The house felt... almost alive.

Before I could fully take it in, a blur of blonde hair launched at me.

"Christian!"

Lola's arms wrapped around my neck, her laughter as bright as I remembered.

"It's been too long," she said, squeezing tight.

I chuckled, hugging her back. "You haven't changed a bit, Lola."

She grinned. "Please, I've had a kid. That alone added five years to my soul."

I looked down to find a little boy clinging shyly to her leg. "And you must be Crew."

He peeked up with wide eyes. "Mama says you live far away."

"I did," I said, crouching. "But I came back. And I might've brought presents."

His face lit up. "Really?"

"Maybe," I teased, straightening. "Depends if you're nice to me."

Lola laughed. "Don't you dare spoil him. He already runs this house."

"Then he's definitely a Castillo," I said, earning a mock glare from her.

"Still a charmer," she muttered.

From the staircase, a familiar voice called down, syrup-sweet and edged with steel.

"Well, look who finally remembered he has a family."

Isabella, the eldest. She looked perfect, polished to the point of cruelty, her diamond earrings catching the light like tiny daggers.

"Still charming as ever, Isa," I said evenly.

Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "We all have our roles."

Behind her came Xavier, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, followed by Carmen, glued to her tablet, her expression one of polite impatience-the kind that came from a full inbox. The twins, Esmeralda and Emilia, trailed close behind, whispering to each other and grinning when they saw me.

Xavier clasped my shoulder. "Welcome back, hermano. London treating you well?"

"As well as it could," I said.

Carmen gave me a polite nod before returning to her screen. "I assume you're here for good this time?"

I shrugged. "We'll see."

The twins reached me next, all smiles and warmth.

"Christian!" Esmeralda said. "You look serious as always."

"Still too quiet," Emilia added.

"Someone has to balance the noise in this family," I replied, and they both laughed.

The tension that had been creeping up eased. For all our differences, this house still knew how to feel like home.

And then came a voice I hadn't heard in years but could have recognized anywhere.

"Oh, sweet heavens, is that my Chris?"

Martha.

She bustled in, apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming with joy. She didn't hesitate-she cupped my face between her palms, as if I were still that boy sneaking cookies from her kitchen.

"Still too thin," she scolded. "Do they not feed you in London?"

A reluctant laugh escaped me. "Hello, Martha."

"Oh, don't you 'hello' me. You've been gone far too long. Sit. I'll make you something proper-arroz con pollo, just like your mother used to."

Her words landed softly but deep, tugging at something raw. And for a second, I couldn't speak.

"Thank you," I managed.

"Don't thank me yet," she said, bustling off. "You're eating seconds."

The laughter resumed once she disappeared. Crew was driving toy cars across the hallway floor, the twins cheering him on. Isabella was talking business with Xavier. Lola was telling Abuelo about Crew's new obsession with dinosaurs.

And for a rare moment, I let myself breathe.

It wasn't perfect, but it was real.

The chandelier glimmered above, light bouncing off marble and memory.

And then, just as suddenly, my thoughts wandered back to Eclipse.

Back to the woman with the ginger hair and the sharp green eyes. The one who moaned into my mouth and then disappeared like a ghost before I could even get her name.

A nameless stranger who had no right living rent-free in my head.

I'd been with more women than I could count. Models, heiresses, women who wanted the Castillo name for what it could give them. None had ever left me looking for someone in every crowd. None had ever made me want to remember the sound of their laugh.

But she had.

And the worst part? I had a feeling I hadn't seen the last of her.

"Christian?" Abuelo's voice pulled me back. "You were a million miles away, hijo."

"Just jet lag," I said lightly.

He studied me with that same sharp gaze that had always seen through me. "You've always been a terrible liar."

Before I could reply, footsteps sounded in the hall.

A woman stepped into the doorway. Ginger hair. Green eyes.

The world tilted.

Abuelo smiled. "Ah, good. Christian, meet Abigail Davenport-my new caregiver."

And just like that, the ghost from Eclipse had a name.

Abigail's POV

If there was a record for the fastest way to lose all professional composure, I had just shattered it.

Because standing in the grand foyer of the Castillo estate-surrounded by expensive art, amused stares, and an uncomfortably curious family-was him.

Chocolate eyes.

Only now I knew his name.

Christian Castillo.

The man I had kissed like I'd known him forever. The man whose name I hadn't even asked before running away like a coward. The man who now stood in front of me looking like sin in a suit-sharp jaw, dark gaze, a calm that felt anything but.

And fate, the twisted little thing, had decided to make him my employer's grandson.

He was staring right at me. No, through me-that same searching look from the bar, except this time, there was something harder beneath it. Recognition. Confusion. And maybe a hint of satisfaction that I didn't want to think about too much.

I straightened instinctively, gripping the clipboard in my hand so tightly my knuckles ached.

"Miss Davenport," Mr. Castillo said beside me, oblivious to the storm building in my chest. "This is my grandson, Christian. He's finally returned home."

I forced a polite smile, the kind that came with professionalism and panic in equal measure.

"Mr. Castillo," I said quietly. "It's... nice to meet you."

His lips curved, not quite into a smile. "We've met."

The words dropped like a pebble into a silent lake. Every head at the table turned slightly toward us.

"Oh?" Alberto raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You two know each other?"

My brain screamed deny, deny, deny.

"Not exactly," I said too quickly. "I think he's mistaken."

Christian's gaze sharpened, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Am I?"

The silence stretched, and I could practically hear Martha holding her breath. Lola hid a grin behind her wine glass. One of the twins-Esmeralda, I thought-whispered something to her sister that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, this is going to be good."

Alberto chuckled, entertained. "Well, it seems there's a story here."

"There's not," I said hastily. "I just-uh-thought I'd seen him somewhere. Probably the news. Castillo Group's quite famous."

Smooth. Very smooth. I should win an award for worst liar of the year.

Christian's smirk deepened. "Right. The news."

If I could've melted into the marble floor, I would've.

Martha, bless her soul, swooped in like a guardian angel sensing the impending social death. "Mr. Castillo," she said, clapping her hands lightly, "your medication is due in twenty minutes, and Miss Davenport still has a few notes to review with me in the kitchen."

I nearly hugged her.

"Of course," Alberto said, nodding. "Christian, we'll continue later. Miss Davenport, you're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," I murmured, backing away like the floor was on fire.

As soon as I rounded the corner into the hallway, I exhaled hard, pressing a hand to my chest. My heart was thundering-fast, uneven, and furious.

"Of all the people in this city," I whispered to myself, "it had to be him."

He wasn't supposed to be real anymore. He was supposed to stay a nameless, perfect memory-a moment that didn't count. 

Not this. Not my boss's grandson.

But fate clearly had a dark sense of humor.

I busied myself in the kitchen, pretending to check Alberto's supplements while my mind refused to stay quiet. I could still feel the weight of Christian's stare. Still hear that low, rough voice that had sent a rush of warmth down my spine that night.

The way he'd said, We've met, like a secret and a challenge at once.

Martha placed a hand on my shoulder. "You all right, dear? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I forced a laugh. "Something like that."

She smiled knowingly, but said nothing more.

I went about my duties, determined to avoid any chance of running into him again.

But I had a feeling Christian Castillo wasn't the type to make avoidance easy.

The sun was setting when I found Alberto seated on a lounge chair by the garden. The evening light spilled gold across his face, softening the lines of age.

"Ah, there you are," he said as I approached. "I was beginning to think you'd run away too."

I smiled despite the heaviness in my chest. "Run away from you? Never."

He chuckled, setting the book aside. "Good. I'd hate to lose my favorite company."

It surprised me how easily I'd come to like him. For a man who built an empire, Alberto Castillo carried a quiet kindness. A strength wrapped in gentleness. He reminded me of my father in some ways. The way he spoke. The patience in his voice. The way he noticed when someone's smile didn't quite reach their eyes.

"How are you feeling today?" I asked, checking the portable monitor beside him.

"Like a man who's lived too long and loved too little," he said lightly. Then, with a small sigh, "But seeing Christian today... it almost feels like I've been given another chance."

The mention of his name sent a small jolt through me.

I adjusted the monitor's strap, pretending it didn't affect me. "He seems... reserved."

"Reserved," Alberto repeated with a small smile. "That's a polite way to say cold, I suppose."

I bit back a laugh.

"He's not cold, Abigail. Just careful. Life hasn't been kind to him. But you'll see-there's a good heart beneath all that armor."

I wanted to believe that. I really did. But all I could think about was the look in Christian's eyes earlier-dark, sharp and too aware. The kind of gaze that made it hard to breathe.

Still, something about Alberto's tone made me soften. He loved his grandson deeply-that much was obvious. And I didn't want to be the reason for any more strain between them.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said quietly.

He patted my hand. "You do that. And don't let him intimidate you. He's just like his grandfather-impossible at first, but easily tamed with the right touch."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "I think I'll stay far away from taming anyone, sir."

He smiled, but his eyes lingered on me for a long moment. "You remind me of someone," he said finally. "Someone I once knew, long ago."

I didn't ask who. Something about the sadness in his voice told me not to.

*****

I stayed later than usual that night, grateful I hadn't run into Christian again. By the time I gathered my things, the estate was mostly quiet, save for the distant hum of voices in the study.

But as I stepped into the dim hallway, I felt it-that subtle shift in the air, that awareness that only comes when someone's eyes are on you.

"Leaving already?"

I didn't need to turn to know who it was.

I should've known it was too soon to celebrate.