Chapter 6 - The Price of Being Chosen
The next week, the newspapers published photographs from the ceremony.
One headline called it “The Sterling Heir’s Unusual Choice.” Another
described me as “the maid who stole the billionaire’s son’s heart.”
I hated both.
I had not stolen anything. Noah was not a prize, and his affection was
not a public spectacle.
Alexander’s communications director offered to release a statement
saying the ceremony had been a private family event that was ended
because a child’s privacy had been compromised.
I asked him not to mention me.
“People will speculate,” he warned.
“Let them.”
Alexander agreed.
But the story spread anyway. Someone had filmed Noah running across the
ballroom. The clip showed him clinging to my uniform and whispering
“Mommy.” It had been viewed millions of times by the end of the week.
My face was blurred in some versions and visible in others.
A reporter waited outside the staff entrance.
“Emma! Are you in a relationship with Mr. Sterling?”
I kept walking.
“Did you encourage Noah to call you Mommy?”
I didn’t answer.
“Are you expecting to marry into the family?”
I stopped then.
“Noah is five years old,” I said. “He deserves privacy. Please leave him
out of this.”
The reporter lowered her camera for a moment.
I continued toward the bus stop.
That evening, Alexander asked if I wanted to stay at the estate until
the attention died down.
“No,” I said. “I want to go home after work.”
He nodded.
“I’ll arrange security at the gate, but no one will follow you unless
you ask.”
“Thank you.”
At the end of my shift, I found a message from an unknown number.
You should remember your place. A child can become attached to anyone
who feeds him.
I deleted it.
Then another arrived.
If you care about Noah, leave before you damage his future.
I showed the messages to the household manager and asked that they be
documented. I did not want anyone confronting the sender. I wanted the
harassment recorded and handled properly.
Alexander was furious when he learned about it.
“Who sent these?”
“We don’t know.”
“I can find out.”
“Then do it through the police or the proper security process. Don’t
turn this into another reason for people to fear your family.”
He held my gaze.
“All right.”
The next day, the household manager informed us that the messages had
come from a prepaid number. The security team preserved the records and
passed them to the authorities.
No one accused Eleanor without evidence.
But when Alexander spoke to his mother, she admitted that she had told
several society friends I was “confusing Noah.” She denied sending the
messages.
Alexander told her she would not be permitted to discuss Noah’s care
with outsiders.
For the first time, Eleanor had to accept a boundary she could not
overrule.
That evening, Noah asked why people were taking pictures of the house.
I sat beside him.
“Some people are curious about your family. But you don’t owe them
answers.”
“Did I do something bad?”
“No.”
“Because I said Mommy?”
I shook my head.
“You were scared, and you said what you felt. You are not in trouble.”
He looked relieved.
Then he asked, “Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Yes. Tomorrow is my workday.”
“And Sunday?”
“Sunday is my day off.”
He thought about it.
“Can I see you Monday?”
“If I’m working, yes.”
He nodded.
It was a small but important distinction.
I was not promising to belong to him every day.
I was promising to be honest about when I would be there.
May you like
And he was learning that an honest goodbye was not the same as
abandonment.
