His Nanny Mate - Season 4 Episode 34

Ella

I lingered in the opulent sitting room, Mrs. Wentworth’s words still fresh in my mind. The soft glow of the chandeliers painted the room in a warm amber hue, casting shadows over the lavish sofas and intricate tapestries that adorned the walls.

I couldn’t shake off the growing unease bubbling within me. Logan had been gone for hours, and every tick of the ornate grandfather clock heightened my anxiety. It was well past midnight by now, I had thought that he would have returned by now. What did he even mean by what he had said? Was he planning on confronting the men who kidnapped me tonight with so little preparation?

Chewing on my bottom lip, my gaze shifted to the large French windows that looked out onto the estate’s driveway. I half-expected to see Logan’s car approaching, but the gravel path remained empty.

The sitting room, with its high-vaulted ceilings and marble columns, was filled with the soft hum of the grand clock, its pendulum swinging methodically. As I sank into one of the plush sofas, staring absently at the intricate patterns of the Persian rug beneath my feet, a nagging unease gripped me.

“Something’s not right,” Ema said suddenly, pulling me out of my reverie.

I closed my eyes, trying to locate the source of my unrest. The emotion felt distant, as though it wasn’t wholly mine. Logan, I realized with a jolt. The fated mate bond we shared allowed me to feel his emotions, especially when they were particularly intense. And right now, I felt his distress.

“Ema,” I whispered internally, “do you feel it too?”

“Yes,” Ema responded, her voice tinged with concern. It felt like a cloud of unease, growing by the moment. I had heard tales of how it felt when someone’s fated mate was in distress, but I had thought that I was immune to it since I rejected him. Apparently I wasn’t.

My fingers drummed on the armrest, my patience waning. “Should I check on him?”

Ema hesitated, then replied, “Maybe you should. It’s been hours now. He could be in trouble.”

Grabbing my phone from the coffee table, I dialed Logan’s number, my heart pounding with every ring. Once, twice, three times… but no answer. The voicemail greeting clicked on, leaving me more worried than before.

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“What do I do, Ema?” My voice trembled as I spoke aloud, the weight of the silence in the room pressing on me.

“You could wait,” Ema mused, her tone contemplative. “Or… you could go look for him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a car here.” And yet, the memory of the grand garage flashed before my eyes.

Logan’s vast car collection!

With newfound determination, I made my way to the garage, the door creaking as it opened to reveal an expansive chamber. The scent that hit me was a mix of polished leather, fresh wax, and the metallic tinge of oil. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over a vast array of vehicles-from classic antiques to sleek sports cars.

The garage was a testament to Logan’s passion. Every car had been meticulously cared for, their exteriors gleaming, their leather seats conditioned to perfection. As I walked through the aisles, my fingers brushed against the cool, smooth hoods, each car telling a silent story of the places it had been, the roads it had traveled.

A cherry-red vintage convertible caught my eye, its allure undeniable. It seemed powerful yet elegant, much like Logan himself. I remembered this car from before, when Logan took me on a joyride. He had said it was his first car. Feeling an inexplicable connection to it, I approached it, the keys dangling invitingly in the ignition.

However, just as I was about to give in to my impulsive decision, the unmistakable sound of a car’s tires screeching to a halt echoed through the garage. Whirling around, I watched in horror as Logan stumbled out of his car, blood staining his otherwise pristine white shirt.

“Logan!” I cried, rushing to him. My fingers lightly touched the red splotch on his shoulder, feeling the wetness of fresh blood. “God, what happened?”

Logan, trying to catch his breath, gave me a weak smile. “I had a bit of a… situation.”

My hands trembled as I gripped his arms. “A situation? Logan, you’re bleeding!”

He winced as he straightened up. Pulling out a delicate handkerchief with the embroidered initials ‘D.L.’ from his pocket, he said, “Was inspecting an empty house when I found this.” His eyes met mine, the gravity of the situation clear in them. “Then I heard someone whistling.”

“Whistling?” I echoed, trying to make sense of his words.

“Yes. A children’s nursery rhyme, if you’d believe it, but it was eerily out of place.” He paused, inhaling deeply. “And then, out of nowhere, men in masks barged in.”

I gasped. “What did he want?”

Logan looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m not entirely sure. There was a shootout. My men and I, we managed to get away. But not before one of their bullets grazed my shoulder.”

In a flurry, I ushered him towards a plush armchair, forcing him to sit. Ripping open his shirt, I grimaced at the sight of the shallow wound. The bullet had just brushed his skin, leaving a nasty, bloody trail.

“I told you, it’s just a graze. I’ll be fine,” Logan tried to reassure me, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“Hold still,” I murmured, my voice quivering. Racing to the nearby cabinet, I recalled seeing a first aid kit there earlier. Grabbing it, I returned to Logan’s side, quickly cleaning the wound with an antiseptic wipe. He winced and pulled away, but with a stern look from me, he held still.

“You don’t need to do this,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on my face. I looked up, meeting his intense blue eyes. “Of course I do. You’re hurt.”

He chuckled softly, the sound laced with pain. “Always so stubborn.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You love that about me.”

He smirked, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “Among other things.”

I shook my head, trying to remain focused on dressing his wound. The silence between us grew heavy, charged with unsaid words and shared memories. Once the wound was cleaned and bandaged, I sighed in relief. “There, all done.”

Logan reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “Thank you, Ella.”

“Always,” I whispered, holding his gaze. A beat of silence passed before I hesitated, then asked, “Who were they, Logan? Those men?”

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He exhaled deeply, a shadow crossing his handsome features. “From what I could gather, they seemed like mercenaries. Hired guns.”

“Hired by who?”

He hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted. “I suspect they might’ve been sent by my brother.”

I felt my heart drop. “Your brother? You think he was the one who sent those men after me, too?”

Logan shook his head. “Not sure. Not yet, at least. But it’s likely; very likely.”

A chill ran down my spine. “But why would your own brother…”

He looked away, anguish evident in his eyes. “He’s always been like this. I guess I just never thought that he would go so far as to hire men to threaten you like that. And after tonight… I’m beginning to think that it’s a lot bigger than I thought it was.”

I gripped Logan’s hand, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. “I’m so sorry, Logan. Maybe you should talk to your father.”

“You know I can’t do that. He won’t do anything.” He gave me a half-smile, squeezing my hand in return. “What matters is that you and your sister are safe. That’s my priority.”

The weight of his words settled around me. Despite his own pain, his own troubles, Logan was still thinking about my safety and that of my sister. It was both humbling and heart- wrenching.

“Thank you,” I murmured, blinking away tears.