Chapter 1

Part 2: The Sins of the Father

Dominic Vale descended the marble stairs slowly, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the stone like the ticking of a countdown clock.

The guards stood in rigid formation, their hands on their weapons, eyes tracking the billionaire whose name could silence courthouses and bury scandals overnight.

Noah had stopped kicking, his small body shaking violently as he pressed himself against Clara’s side, using the injured maid as a shield against his own father.

Clara’s heart pounded against her ribs, the pain sharp and blinding, but she did not pull away from the boy.

She felt the dampness of his tears soaking into her torn apron.

"Step away from him, Clara," Dominic commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that commanded absolute obedience.

"He's terrified, Mr. Vale," Clara said, her voice shaking but holding its ground as she broke the house manager’s golden rule—she looked Dominic straight in the eye.

Mrs. Hargrove watched from the shadows of the hallway, her hand clutching her pearl brooch, her face pale with an emotion that looked suspiciously like guilt.

"The boy is disturbed," Dominic said coldly, gesturing for two guards to step forward and grab his son. "He has been this way since his mother's accident."

"It wasn't an accident, was it?" Clara whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Noah’s grip on her uniform tightened so hard his knuckles turned white, his small face buried in her shoulder.

The billionaire froze, the air in the grand foyer turning instantly to ice.

The guards stopped in their tracks, looking down at the floor, suddenly wishing they were anywhere else in Chicago.

"What did you say?" Dominic asked softly, a tone that usually preceded a man disappearing from the city's registry.

"He isn't screaming because he's angry," Clara said, her natural protective instinct overcoming her fear as she held the trembling four-year-old closer. "He's screaming because he's trying to drown out what he saw."

Noah pulled back just enough to look at Clara, his large, dark eyes clear for the first time in two years.

He reached into his small pocket and pulled out a tiny, crumpled piece of paper, holding it out to her like a lifeline.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed instantly as he recognized the paper, his hand moving toward the inside of his navy suit jacket.

"Give that to me," Dominic ordered, his composure fracturing for a fraction of a second.