Scarlett had one rule—no entering Ryder's room unless absolutely necessary. It was sacred ground for spoiled behavior, perfume that wasn't hers, and clothes more expensive than her tuition. But that morning, Mrs. Gloria handed her a folded note before disappearing down the hall with a tray of muffins.
It read in Ryder's handwriting:
"Dear Nanny Monroe, I seem to have lost all concept of time, my alarm, and my shirt. Rescue me before I'm late for class. Also, I may or may not be trapped in my closet."
Scarlett stared at the note for a long second, then muttered, "You've got to be kidding me."
She marched across the hall, yanked open Ryder's bedroom door, and—
"Oh my God."
Clothes were everywhere.
Designer shirts, jeans, jackets—half hanging from shelves, half forming a pile of death on the floor. The walk-in closet door was slightly ajar, and a muffled voice called, "Scarlett? Is that you?"
She stepped carefully through the fashion apocalypse and opened the door to find Ryder sitting cross-legged on the closet floor, surrounded by fallen boxes and… glitter.
"What. Happened," she asked, blinking at him.
"I was trying to find my black hoodie," Ryder said, brushing sparkles off his shoulder. "Then the shelf tried to murder me."
"You're an idiot."
"I'm your idiot," he replied with a grin.
Scarlett tossed him the hoodie hanging two feet to his left. "You mean this hoodie?"
He took it sheepishly. "Wow. You're amazing. Will you marry me?"
She spun on her heel. "Try escaping your closet first, Cinderella."
---
An Hour Later...
Ryder, finally dressed and alive, strolled into the kitchen sipping orange juice. Scarlett sat at the counter, laptop open, already working on her class assignments.
"You're like a tiny drill sergeant," he said, nudging her elbow. "Bossy, cold, and weirdly effective."
"Thanks," she muttered without looking up.
He leaned in. "Admit it. You'd miss me if I fired you."
Scarlett gave him a blank stare. "Try me."
Ryder smirked. "You know, if you smiled more, you'd be almost scary cute."
Scarlett slammed her laptop shut. "If you flirt with me before 9 a.m. again, I'll superglue your eyelids."
Ryder raised both brows. "Kinky."
"Unconscious."
He laughed, genuinely now. "Scarlett Monroe... you are dangerously close to becoming my favorite person."
"And you," she replied, standing up with her coffee, "are dangerously close to becoming a cautionary tale."
---
Later That Night…
Scarlett walked into the living room to find Ryder asleep on the couch, TV playing some old action movie, one hand still holding a half-eaten slice of pizza.
She rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."
But she pulled a blanket from the chair and tossed it over him anyway.
As she turned to leave, Ryder murmured half-asleep, "Night, Nanny…"
Scarlett paused at the doorway.
Then smiled. Just a little.
---
~NEXT MORNING ~
Scarlett had just started organizing Ryder's schedule for the week when the doorbell echoed through the mansion like thunder in a canyon.
She ignored it—until Mrs. Gloria poked her head into the study with a wrinkled frown.
"Scarlett dear, would you please get that? I'm elbow-deep in cookie dough and Mr. Fredrick is roasting something that smells like doom."
"On it," Scarlett said, heading to the front door and pulling it open—
To find a girl standing there like she owned the world.
Long legs. Designer bag. Platinum blonde hair curled to precision. And a smirk that said she'd done this walk of privilege a hundred times.
"Um… can I help you?" Scarlett asked, unimpressed.
The girl took off her sunglasses slowly, as if Scarlett's face was offensive. "Yeah. I'm here for Ryder."
Scarlett crossed her arms. "And you are?"
"Vivian," she said with a little pout. "His ex. But don't worry, we're still super close."
Scarlett stared blankly. "Wow. I totally care."
Vivian blinked. "Excuse me?"
Scarlett turned. "Ryder!" she shouted, loud and unapologetic. "Your past is at the door!"
A few seconds later, Ryder appeared at the top of the staircase, wearing joggers, a white tee, and that same infuriating smirk. "Vivian," he drawled, slowly descending. "Didn't know you were in town."
"I missed you," she cooed, throwing her arms around his neck.
Scarlett gagged audibly.
Ryder chuckled. "Vivian, this is Scarlett. Scarlett, Vivian."
Vivian looked Scarlett up and down. "Oh," she said, fake smile spreading. "You're the nanny."
"And you're still wearing too much perfume," Scarlett replied dryly.
Ryder choked on his laugh.
Vivian's smile twitched, then turned to Ryder. "Can we talk? Alone?"
Before Ryder could answer, Scarlett grabbed her binder. "I'll be in the garden. Don't trip over your ego."
---
In the Garden
Scarlett sat beneath a lemon tree, furiously typing class notes into her phone, refusing to admit the burning in her chest was jealousy. She didn't like Ryder. He was chaos wrapped in cologne. A walking heartbreak waiting to happen.
So why did Vivian's face make her want to throw lemons?
Ryder appeared twenty minutes later, alone, looking amused.
"She said you were rude," he said.
Scarlett shrugged. "She said you were hers."
"She also once said I looked better shirtless."
"Objectively false," Scarlett said flatly.
Ryder grinned, stepping closer. "Are you jealous, Nanny Monroe?"
Scarlett stood up, eyes level. "I don't do jealous. I do allergic. To fake smiles and unnecessary drama."
He laughed. "You're unreal."
"And you're late for your econ assignment."
"Want to do it for me?"
She scoffed. "Want me to light you on fire?"
Ryder lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. But seriously…"
He stepped in close, voice lower.
"She doesn't matter, Scar. Not anymore."
Scarlett raised a brow. "I don't care who matters to you. Just don't bring perfume bombs to my front door again."
Ryder nodded, but his smile lingered.
And for the first time, she didn't walk away first.
---
~NEXT MORNING ~
"Are you trying to get expelled or assassinated?" Scarlett asked Ryder as they walked back into the mansion after his Monday classes.
Ryder dropped his bag on the floor, flopped onto the nearest couch, and grinned. "Both sound thrilling."
"You skipped two classes, got a warning from your professor, and then flirted with the Dean's daughter during a campus tour," she said, flipping open her clipboard.
"To be fair," Ryder said, "she flirted first. I just... participated."
Scarlett stared. "Participated? Ryder, you winked at her while calling her 'dean baby.'"
"She laughed."
"Because she was shocked. Not amused."
Ryder stretched like a spoiled cat. "Why are you so obsessed with me, Nanny Monroe?"
"I'm obsessed with keeping my job and making sure you don't burn this house—or your degree—down."
He gave her that lopsided grin. "You care."
Scarlett snorted. "You wish."
Before Ryder could respond, Mason—his childhood friend and one of his favorite enablers—burst through the door with his signature devil-may-care energy and a basketball under one arm.
"Let's play," Mason said. "Loser does the dishes for a week."
"I don't touch dishes," Ryder replied, lazy.
Scarlett walked past with a mug of tea. "Coward."
Ryder's head whipped around. "What did you just call me?"
"C-o-w-a-r-d," she spelled. "Look it up. It's next to 'dramatic playboy with zero work ethic.'"
Mason howled with laughter. "Bro, she called you out."
Ryder jumped to his feet. "Fine. But if I win, she has to do one thing I say."
Scarlett turned, eyes narrowed. "Define 'one thing.'"
Ryder's smirk turned wicked. "One harmless favor. No kissing, no criminal activity. Just... a favor."
"And if you lose?" she asked.
He looked at Mason, then back. "I do your laundry for a month."
Scarlett smiled, evil and pretty. "Deal."