His name was Eli — barely ten years old, clothes torn, knees bruised, eyes burning with desperation.
In front of him sat Mila, a frail little girl the same age, trapped in a wheelchair, her thin fingers clutching a box of pills as if it were her last hope. Standing between them like a wall was her father, Victor Hale, a powerful millionaire who had spent fortunes trying to cure his daughter — and failed.
“Stay away from her,” Victor said, his voice tight with fear. “My daughter is sick. These medicines are the only thing keeping her alive.”
Eli shook his head, tears trembling in his eyes.
“They’re hurting her,” he whispered. “I’ve seen it. I know something no doctor has noticed.”
Victor wanted to believe him — but how could he trust a homeless child over world-class specialists?
Before he could respond, a sharp voice cut through the garden.
“Get that filthy boy away from my stepdaughter!”
Helena, Victor’s wife, stood on the terrace, eyes cold with hatred. From the moment she entered the family, she had despised the street child who dared be close to Mila.
“You’re poison,” she hissed at Eli. “Just like the dirt you crawl out of.”