His driver was waiting. A board meeting loomed. His fiancée, Vanessa, expected him that evening. His entire empire depended on precision. Yet those girls had Sofia’s eyes.
“Take me to her,” he said quietly.
They led him through streets he’d never walked, down damp stairwells and into alleys that smelled of decay. They stopped at a rusted door inside a crumbling courtyard.
Inside, on a thin mattress on the floor, lay Sofia. Pale. Shivering. Barely breathing.
“Mom, he’s here!” one twin cried.
Sofia’s eyes fluttered open. It took effort for her to focus.
Michael dropped to his knees beside her, not caring about the filth soaking into his expensive trousers.
“Sofia? It’s me. Michael.”
She tried to speak but only managed a faint sound.
“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” one girl asked flatly. “Like a candle.”
The words pierced him. He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Sofia, then dialed his driver.
“Ethan. Bring the car. Now.”
As he lifted her—shocked at how light she felt—he looked again at the twins. Their faces. Their expressions. Something undeniable began to form in his mind.