The Millionaire’s Son Spat At All The Nannies… But Kissed This Maid

Victoria laughed coldly. “Everyone says that before they take the envelope.” She rose, leaving a crisp business card on the table before walking away, her heels echoing like a threat.

Isabella glanced at the card, then turned toward the street. The wind was cold against her face, but her heart felt strangely warm. What she felt for that child was real, and nothing could buy it.

That night, Isabella stepped onto the balcony. The city below shimmered in a sea of lights. Ethan was already there.

“Victoria came to see you, didn’t she?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Isabella replied.

“What did she say?”

“That I should leave.”

Ethan’s hand tightened on the railing. His voice was low but firm. “You’re not going anywhere, Isabella.”

She turned toward him, the city lights reflected in his eyes—fragile, but full of truth. In that moment, Isabella realized that the real storm had only just begun.

An uneasy tension settled over the mansion. One morning, Dolores rushed in, holding a glossy magazine. Her hands trembled. “Miss Cruz, look. They’re writing about you.”

On the cover was a candid photo of Ethan holding Noah, with Isabella standing close beside them. The headline screamed: “The Lonely Billionaire and His Mysterious Nanny: Love Behind the Whitmore Gates?”

Isabella froze. The article was full of cruel speculation—that she’d seduced a grieving man for money, that she’d manipulated her way into his life. The photos were invasive, intimate moments clearly stolen from afar. Someone had been watching them.

Ethan came home that evening, pale and exhausted, his phone ringing non-stop. “The press and the board are all over me,” he said hoarsely. “Someone wants to destroy me, and they’re using you to do it.”

Isabella’s hands shook. “It’s Victoria, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. His silence was enough.

By the next day, the scandal had exploded. Worse still, a family court had reopened the custody case for Noah. Ethan’s lawyer arrived, his voice cool and professional.

“Mr. Whitmore, under the circumstances, the best course of action is to end all contact between you and Miss Cruz. The press is framing this as an inappropriate relationship. It could jeopardize your custody.”

Isabella turned to Ethan, searching for defiance, but saw only pain and conflict in his eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

He clenched his fists, unable to look at her. “Isabella, I do, but… I can’t risk losing my son.”

The words sliced through her. She turned away, tears spilling down her cheeks. She knew he wasn’t wrong, and that only made it hurt more.

That night, she packed her few things in silence. Dolores wept, and Martha hugged her tightly. Noah toddled around, confused, sensing the despair. When Isabella lifted him into her arms, her voice broke.

“I have to go, little one, but I’ll always love you, okay?”

Noah cried out, clutching her neck, refusing to let go. Ethan stood by the doorway, his eyes red. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She kissed Noah’s forehead, then looked at Ethan one last time. “Don’t be. Just take care of him. That’s all I ever wanted.”

She walked out through the iron gates. The wind cut through her hair like shards of glass. Behind her, Noah’s cry—”Mama!”—ripped through the night, a sound so raw it could break the sky. Isabella kept walking, leaving behind the only place that had ever felt like home.

That night, Ethan stood alone in Noah’s room. He turned on the old baby monitor, and from the small speaker came the faint, ethereal sound of Isabella’s voice, singing the Spanish lullaby. Her voice faded slowly, melting into silence. And in that moment, Ethan understood: what he had lost wasn’t his reputation. It was the only woman who had brought his heart back to life.

A week passed. The vast house was dominated by a hollow silence. Noah refused to eat, refused to sleep. Every time the door opened, he looked up, his eyes wide with hope, but the face he longed for never appeared. Ethan sat in the dark, watching the old baby monitor, listening to the phantom lullaby.

Then one morning, everything changed.

Victoria Hale appeared live on national television at a press conference. She wore black, her face pale and drawn, her voice trembling but steady.

“I need to tell the truth,” she began, and the room fell silent. “About the death of my sister, Amelia Whitmore.” Her hands shook. “That night, Amelia and I argued. I said things I should never have said. I am the reason she left the house in tears. I am the reason for the accident.”

Gasps rippled through the audience.

Victoria drew a deep breath. “I blamed Ethan because I couldn’t bear my own guilt. I thought ruining his life would ease my pain. But I was wrong.” Her voice cracked. “The woman the world called a gold-digger, Isabella Cruz, is the one who saved my nephew. Because of her, Noah laughs again. He knows love again. I have no right to judge her.”

Ethan sat frozen in his office. Each word cut deep, but it also set something free inside him. When the broadcast ended, he grabbed his keys and left without a word.

That afternoon, he drove to Oakland. He stopped in front of a small, aging apartment building. Isabella’s home.