His twins—Evan and Ella, both nine—were home sick again. Pale faces. Low energy. Coughs that seemed to linger longer than they should. The doctor had assured him it was nothing serious, just exhaustion and stress, but Daniel knew the truth ran deeper.
Since their mother died two years earlier, the children had slowly withdrawn into themselves.
And Daniel, a self-made millionaire who could solve billion-dollar problems before lunch, had failed to notice how lonely his own house had become.
“I’ll be back early,” he promised, kneeling in front of them.
They nodded politely.
Too politely.
As usual, he handed responsibility over to the housekeeper, Grace Miller—a quiet woman in her mid-twenties who had worked for him for nearly a year. She cleaned well, spoke little, and never caused trouble.
Or so he thought.
The meeting Daniel rushed to ended sooner than expected. On impulse, he drove straight home.
The mansion was unusually lively when he stepped inside.
Not loud—but alive.
He heard voices. Excited voices.
Curious, Daniel followed the sound toward the dining room.
And then he stopped cold.
