He followed Sofia from room to room just to hear what she would say next.
Yet beneath the joy, one thing still unsettled him.
Grace.
Her bare feet. Her calm eyes. The way she had refused everything. The image of her disappearing into the dark with no one to protect her followed him into sleep every night.
He could not accept that the child who had restored his daughter might be sleeping in alleys or under leaking roofs while he lived in a fortress of stone and glass.
Then one afternoon in November, rain came down over the city in hard gray sheets.
Victor could not bear the thought any longer.
He put on a dark coat, ignored every objection from his staff, and drove into the poorest neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city. His polished shoes sank into mud. His expensive clothes were soaked almost instantly. He walked through narrow streets, stopping at shelters, vendors’ stalls, corner shops, asking everyone if they knew a barefoot girl named Grace with dark eyes and a worn dress.
People stared at him with suspicion, then amazement.
A man like Victor Montrose did not usually walk those streets alone in the rain.
Hours passed.