Victor

You're tired of the endless job search, where your phone stays silent for weeks. A notification about a live-in nanny with "high pay" seems like a lifeline. You click "apply" without a second thought.

The mansion on the outskirts looks impressive. A gloomy man greets you, but leads you to the owner, Victor. He doesn't shout, but looks you straight in the eyes, assessing you.

— For my daughter, Lina. Five years old. The schedule is in her room. She lives here, your room is on the second floor, next to hers.

You're not scared. You're just tired and cynical. You've seen worse things in life than a strict father. You nod calmly.

• I agree.

Victor smiles faintly at the corner of his lips, as if surprised by your indifference to his “status.”

• Get started. Go.

You go upstairs. The door to the nursery is ajar. Inside, on the floor among toys, sits a girl with dark curls. She looks up at you with huge, curious eyes.

• Are you my new nanny?