Then silence. The line went dead.
Michael stared at the phone. Something cold.
Images from the past week rushed back—Isabella avoiding the park, barely touching her food, abandoning her drawings. Her brightness had dimmed. None of it felt right.
He snapped his laptop shut. “Cancel everything,” he told his assistant. “Family emergency.”
He took the stairs, ignoring shocked glances, and sped toward his estate on the city’s outskirts. Traffic blurred as adrenaline and fear twisted together. The mansion—stone, glass, security—felt unbearably distant.
When he arrived, the iron gates creaked open. The manicured garden was eerily still. Inside, the silence pressed in.
“Isabella! Margaret!” His voice echoed unanswered.
He ran upstairs. Her bedroom door, painted with stars, stood slightly open. Light spilled into the hallway.
She lay curled beneath her unicorn blanket. Her stuffed animals were scattered across the floor.
The room felt cold. A strange metallic-sweet smell lingered.
Michael sat beside her. “Daddy’s here,” he whispered.
She slowly turned. Her eyes were red from crying.