Chapter 3 - The Unspoken Treaty
The morning sun filtered through the high stained-glass windows of the estate's breakfast nook, casting pools of warm ruby and gold across the polished oak table.
I sat at the head of the table, wearing a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, reading the morning financial papers.
A small, quiet footstep sounded near the doorway.
Sofia peeked around the corner, wearing a yellow rain dress with small ducklings printed on the pockets. In her little hands, she held a stuffed brown bear with a missing button eye.
"Sofia," I spoke without looking up from my newspaper. "Come here."
She didn't hesitate. Unlike every grown man in New York who hesitated before entering my presence, the four-year-old marched straight across the room, her small yellow rain boots squeaking softly against the floor. She stopped beside my chair, placing her stuffed bear on my knee.
"Teddy is hungry, Mr. Daniel," she announced solemnly.
I looked down at the bear, then at her bright, fearless face. A small, unfamiliar warmth flickered in my chest—a feeling so strange I almost mistook it for pain.
"Is he?" I set my paper aside. I reached for a silver plate of freshly baked blueberry muffins Mrs. Gable had left on the table. I broke off a small piece and placed it gently in front of the bear. "There. Your bear is fed."
Sofia beamed, her smile so bright it felt like a physical light hitting the dim room. "Thank you, Mr. Daniel."
"Sofia!" Maria’s panicked voice echoed from the hallway.
Maria hurried into the room, her apron half-tied, her hair pulled back into a hasty bun. She stopped dead when she saw her daughter standing intimately beside my chair, watching me feed a muffin to a stuffed animal.
"Mr. Hale... I am so sorry," Maria stammered, rushing forward to grab Sofia’s hand. "I was getting the laundry, and she—"
"Sit down, Elena," I said softly.
Maria froze.
The air in the room instantly turned to glass. Maria’s hand went limp, her eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated horror as her real name hung between us. She instinctively pulled Sofia behind her skirts, her breathing coming in short, terrified gasps.
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"How... how do you know that name?" she whispered, her voice trembling so badly she could barely form the words.
"Sit down," I repeated, gesturing to the chair beside mine. "We need to talk about Marco."
