At 9:05 PM, the kitchen was a cathedral of shadows. Maya slipped out. Her target was a small ceramic bowl. Inside were the remains of a creamy truffle pasta, half-eaten and abandoned. To a man who owned empires, it was trash; to a girl who hadn’t had a full meal in three days, it was a miracle.
She reached for the bowl, her fingers trembling. She didn’t notice the shadow stretching across the granite floor until the light flickered on. The bowl slipped from her numb fingers, shattering against the white tile. Yellow-white pasta splattered like a wound across the floor.
Standing in the doorway was Elias Sterling. He wasn’t in a tuxedo, but a charcoal silk robe. His silver hair was mussed, and his eyes, usually sharp as flint, looked hauntingly exhausted.
The Master of the House
Elias Sterling hadn’t been in his own kitchen at night for years. Insomnia was a cruel companion, and tonight, the silence of his study had felt suffocating. He had come down for a glass of water, expecting emptiness. Instead, he found a child.