Michael Reed, thirty-five, jaw clenched and eyes trained by years of business negotiations rather than emotional comfort, let out a long breath.
He had driven straight from the airport, reckless with speed and hope. His trip to Tokyo had ended early after a successful merger, giving him three unexpected days.
He wanted the surprise. He wanted to see the two people who had softened his guarded heart after years of isolation: his daughter Sophia and his fiancée, Claire. He stepped out of the car without waiting for staff.
In his pocket rested a navy velvet box holding a diamond necklace for Claire. On the passenger seat lay a handcrafted Japanese doll for Sophia.
The mansion—glass, concrete, and pristine lines—stood as proof of success and a reminder of how empty life had once been. Today, it was supposed to feel like home.
But the moment he entered, the silence struck him hard.
No laughter. No soft music. The marble foyer echoed his voice when he called, “Claire, sweetheart. Daddy’s home early.”
Nothing answered. A knot tightened in his chest. Sophia should have been back from school, and Claire usually spent afternoons planning the wedding in the garden.