Chapter 7 - The Smallest Voice
For a long moment, the only sound in the basement was Olivia’s muffled weeping and the steady hum of the radiator. The other children crept out from behind their partitions, their eyes wide with confusion and wonder, gathering slowly around the pair.
Daniel stood protectively in front of the twins, while Lucas watched with intense, analytical curiosity.
And then, stepping out from behind the floral rug, little four-year-old Noah approached.
He clutched his broken wooden toy truck in one hand, his small sneakers squeaking softly on the concrete floor. He didn't look at Olivia. Instead, his wide, innocent eyes fixed entirely on the tall, imposing stranger kneeling in front of his sister figure.
Noah tilted his head, studying the sharp lines of Victor’s face, the silver in his hair, and the dark, expensive overcoat that smelled of rain and cedarwood.
To Noah, the world was simple. People either brought sadness, or they brought comfort. He had seen this man’s face before—not in person, but in a small, hidden leather album that Elena used to keep under her pillow before she closed her eyes forever. A picture of a young man with laughing eyes and the same stubborn chin.
Noah stepped closer, reaching out a tiny, grubby hand to touch the lapel of Victor’s coat.
The entire room went dead silent. Even Olivia stopped crying, lifting her head in sheer astonishment.
May you like
Noah looked straight up into the billionaire’s weathered, tear-streaked face, and spoke in a quiet, crystal-clear voice that echoed off the damp concrete walls:
"Daddy?"
