Page 39 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

"Best for who?" I snap, unable to hold back the anger bubbling up inside me. "You're giving up on him. You're giving up on us."

The words hang in the air, exposing feelings I hadn't meant to voice. Dex steps back as if I've struck him, his expression shutting down, closing like a door being slammed.

"You shouldn't have gotten so attached," he says coldly. "You're just the nanny."

My world tilts, the words cutting deeper than any knife. All those nights caring for Ellis together, the shared looks of triumph when he finally took his bottle, the way Dex's eyes softened when he watched me rock his nephew to sleep—was that all just convenience to him?

"I can't believe that's what you think," I whisper, hurt blooming inside my chest like a bruise spreading beneath the skin.

But when I look at him, searching for any hint of the Dex I thought I knew—the one who laughed too loudly and protected fiercely—I see nothing but coldness. The wall between us feels insurmountable.

Anger flares, hot and protective, burning away the hurt. I storm past him, my shoulder bumping his arm as I go. The contact sends a jolt through me—one last physical reminder of what I'm walking away from.

I slam the door to my room, the sound echoing through the empty house where a baby's cries should be.

22

MAYA

Iwake with swollen eyes and an aching heart. The soft light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting shadows across the room that has been mine for these past months. Not truly mine. Never truly mine.

My fingers trace the indent on the pillow where my tears soaked through during the night. In the stillness of morning, the memories of yesterday hit me with renewed clarity—Varina walking out with Ellis, the coldness in Dex's eyes, the words that sliced through me.

"You're just the nanny."

I sit up slowly, my body heavy with exhaustion. A quiet house greets me, no baby cries, no sounds of Dex moving about. The emptiness feels pointed, deliberate, like a message written in the silence. He's gone. Probably couldn't bear to face me after what happened.

Fine. That makes this easier.

I pull my travel trunk from under the bed, the scraping sound harsh against the floor. The trunk opens with a creak, and I begin methodically folding my clothes, placing them inside with precise movements. Each item represents a memory—the shirt I wore when Ellis first grabbed my braid with his tiny fingers, the pants stained with burgona puree when he knocked over his food bowl.

My practical nature has always been my shield. Even when my prestigious Silverleaf family cast me out for treating minotaur patients, I didn't crumble. I rebuilt. I established my herb shop. I survived.

I can do it again.

The scar on my right hand catches the light as I fold a tunic. The magical accident that gave me this mark also marked the beginning of my exile. I'd saved a minotaur child that day, refusing to turn them away despite my family's prejudices. The irony isn't lost on me—here I am, forced to walk away from another minotaur child I've grown to love.

My silver-blonde hair falls forward as I bend to retrieve my boots from under the bed. I push it back impatiently, making a mental note to cut it shorter again when I get home. Practical. Always practical.

I place my mortar and pestle carefully wrapped in cloth into the trunk, alongside jars of tinctures and salves I'd made for Ellis. The zabilla pouch still sits in my pocket, unused. I pull it out, staring at it for a long moment before placing it on the nightstand. Maybe Dex will find use for it, if he ever visits his nephew.

The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through me. How could he give up so easily? The Dex I thought I knew would have fought tooth and horn for his family.

But I was wrong about him. Wrong about us.

I close the trunk with a decisive snap, securing the latches. Standing in the middle of the room, I let my eyes wander one last time, taking inventory of what I'm leaving behind. My gaze catches on the empty crib in the corner.

The sight of it nearly breaks me.

I cross the room, running my fingers along the smooth wooden rails. Ellis should be here, swaddled in his blankets, making those little grunting noises as he sleeps. His absence feels like a physical wound, raw and throbbing.

My throat tightens as I remember his wide golden eyes, the way his tiny horns felt against my cheek when I held him close. How could Dex let him go? How could he surrender without a fight?

I pick up a small stuffed iypin—the toy I bought for Ellis on market day. Its three-toned indigo fur is soft against my fingers. Ellis loved to grab at its bushy tail, his eyes lighting up with fascination. I squeeze it once, then place it back in the crib. Another piece of my heart left behind.

With a deep breath, I pick up my trunk and satchel. Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last. I pause in the doorway, half-hoping to hear Dex call my name, to see him rush in and tell me he made a terrible mistake.

The house remains silent.

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