The morning sun hadn't fully risen when Eva arrived at the mansion gate.
It stood tall and still, like it had been waiting for no one in particular — and maybe that was fitting, because Nathan Ward didn't seem like a man who waited for anyone.
She checked her wristwatch. 6:58 a.m.
On time. She always was.
By 7:02, the housekeeper Maria led her in through the long hallway — a quiet space of glass, dark marble, and distant echoes. Every step she took felt like it had to ask permission.
"Mr. Ward's in the music room," she said, her tone carefully polite. "He doesn't like mornings."
Eva managed a small smile. "Neither do I."
The house smelled faintly of espresso and smoke. Somewhere in the distance, soft guitar chords drifted through the air — gentle, hesitant, like someone testing a memory.
When she reached the studio door, she paused. Her reflection in the frosted glass looked as nervous as she felt. She took a steadying breath, then knocked.
A voice from inside — low, roughened, tired.
"Come in."
***
Nathan was sitting on the couch, barefoot, in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that looked too thin for November. His hair was a tangle, his eyes hidden behind dark shades even though the blinds were still drawn.
He didn't stand. Didn't even look up.
"You're the nurse?" he asked, tone flat.
"Yes. Nurse Eva Meadows," she said. "I'm starting today."
"Right," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "guess I'll be stuck with you temporarily "
She nodded.
He gestured vaguely toward a small desk near the corner. "Your files are there. You'll start by organizing my medication and making sure I don't die before lunch."
The bluntness caught her off-guard. "I'll do my best," she said, trying to keep her voice even.
He tilted his head toward her then — finally looking. His eyes were dark than she expected, the gray of clouds before a storm. "Do you always sound that polite, or is it just because it's your first day and we're alone?"
"I'm polite to everyone," she replied, matching his gaze.
He smiled faintly — though it looked more like a smirk. "not compared to our earlier conversation in the hospital". "That'll fade fast." he added.
***
For the next few minutes, Eva moved quietly, reviewing his chart, checking bottles and dosages. Nathan leaned back on the couch, saying nothing. The silence between them wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't exactly hostile either.
When she reached for his wrist to check his pulse, he spoke again.
"I have a few rules," he said, his tone casual but firm — the kind of firmness that carried weight.
She paused, waiting.
"One," he continued, "don't move my things. Especially in the studio."
"Understood."
"Two — don't interrupt when I'm writing or recording. Doesn't matter if the house is on fire. That's my time."
"Noted."
"And three..." his voice slowed slightly, almost thoughtful, "....when it's showtime, you don't go near my bedroom. I don't like being disturbed then. Ever."
She frowned slightly. "Showtime?"
"You'll know when it is," he said simply.
There was a quiet beat before she spoke again. "Anything else I should know?"
He gave a small shrug. "Yeah. I don't need a babysitter. I just need someone to make sure I'm alive by the time the next concert rolls around."
"I'm not here to babysit you," she said evenly. "I'm here to help you stay alive long enough to play more than one."
That almost drew a real smile. "You've got a mouth on you, Nurse Meadows."
"Only when someone needs to hear the truth."
For the rest of the morning, they stayed in opposite corners of the room. She worked with quiet precision; he drifted between humming a tune, checking his phone, and staring out the window with a distant look that made her chest tighten for reasons she couldn't explain.
By noon, she'd finished updating his vitals. "You need to eat," she said, setting down her notepad.
He didn't look away from the window. "I don't eat before afternoon rehearsals."
"That explains your blood pressure," she murmured.
He turned his head slightly. "What was that?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Just… you should eat something."
"Noted," he said dryly.
It was ridiculous — how he could make one word sound like a challenge.
***
By late afternoon, Eva had gathered her things. Her shift ended at six, but Nathan was still upstairs when she passed by again to say goodbye.
He was sitting at the piano this time, cigarette dangling between his fingers, head bent as if the weight of the keys themselves were too much to carry.
"Mr. Ward?" she said softly.
He didn't turn, just spoke into the quiet. "You can call me Nathan. Everyone does."
"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
A beat of silence. Then, low, almost an afterthought—
"Seven sharp."
She smiled faintly. "I'm always on time."
His mouth twitched. "We'll see."
Outside, as she stepped into the cool evening air, Eva drew a deep breath. The mansion loomed behind her — still, elegant, and strangely heavy, like a place full of unsaid things.
She didn't know yet about the bottles he kept locked in
the drawer under the piano.
She didn't know how many nights he spent awake, trying to outrun his own heartbeat.