Chapter 1 - THE GIRL IN THE OVERSIZED APRON
“You came all the way here alone?”
Emma nodded.
Lucas Blackwood stared at her for several seconds.
The storm continued beating against the windows behind them, but somehow the room had become completely silent.
“Yes, mister.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened.
“How?”
Emma looked down at her wet Mary Janes.
“I took the bus.”
“You took a bus?”
She nodded again.
“Mommy said I should never talk to strangers. But she said you weren't a stranger because she used to work here.”
Lucas froze.
“She used to work here?”
Emma lifted the folded paper.
“She cleaned the east wing.”
Lucas looked at Harold.
The older man immediately understood.
“Find out,” Lucas ordered.
Harold nodded and left.
Lucas looked back at Emma.
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah Carter?”
“Yes.”
Lucas's expression changed.
He knew that name.
Not because Sarah Carter had ever been important to him.
But because she had disappeared.
Three years ago, Sarah had worked at Blackwood Estate for less than eight months. She had been quiet, reliable, and invisible—the kind of employee Lucas rarely noticed.
Then one morning, she simply didn't show up.
No resignation.
No explanation.
No forwarding address.
Nothing.
Lucas had assumed she had found another job.
But now her daughter was standing in front of him wearing her old apron.
“Where is your mother now?”
“At home.”
“Why isn't she at the hospital?”
Emma hesitated.
“She doesn't like hospitals.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because last time, they wouldn't let me see her.”
Something about the way she said it made Lucas's stomach tighten.
He looked at the child's thin arms.
She wasn't merely wet.
She was exhausted.
There were faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“How long have you been taking care of your mother?”
Emma shrugged.
“I'm eight.”
Lucas stared.
“That wasn't my question.”
She looked at him.
“Since she got sick.”
“How long?”
“Eleven days.”
Lucas stood.
Eleven days.
An eight-year-old girl had apparently been caring for a sick adult for eleven days.
Something cold moved through Lucas's chest.
He reached for his phone.
“Harold.”
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
“Sir?”
“Call Dr. Miller.”
Emma immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Lucas looked at her.
“No?”
“Mommy said we can't owe doctors money.”
Lucas's eyes hardened.
“You won't owe anyone anything.”
“But—”
“Emma.”
His voice softened.
“Where do you live?”
She gave him an address.
Lucas recognized the neighborhood.
A run-down apartment complex in Dorchester.
His expression darkened.
“How did you get here?”
“Bus.”
“In this storm?”
She nodded.
“Mommy told me not to miss the interview.”
Lucas looked at the resume.
“Why was this job so important?”
Emma's lips trembled.
“Because we're getting evicted.”
The answer hit harder than it should have.
“Who is evicting you?”
“Our landlord.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Lucas stared at her.
“You came here because your mother was afraid you'd lose your home?”
Emma nodded.
“She said if she got this job, we'd be okay.”
Lucas looked at the oversized apron again.
A child had walked through a storm to protect her sick mother.
Something he hadn't felt in years stirred inside him.
Not pity.
Something more dangerous.
Protectiveness.
Lucas reached for the phone.
“Get a car ready.”
Emma blinked.
“Where are we going?”
“To your mother.”
“No.”
Lucas paused.
“Why not?”
“Mommy said nobody should know where we live.”
The room went cold.
Lucas slowly lowered his phone.
“Why?”
Emma looked toward the door.
Then she whispered:
“Because bad men have been asking about me.”
Lucas's blood ran cold.
“What bad men?”
Emma's fingers tightened around the paper.
“I don't know.”
“Emma.”
“They came two nights ago.”
“What did they want?”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“They asked Mommy where she got me.”
Lucas stopped breathing.
“What?”
Emma swallowed.
“They said…”
Her voice broke.
“They said I wasn't supposed to be alive.”
For the first time in years, Lucas Blackwood felt something close to fear.
Not for himself.
For an eight-year-old girl standing barefoot on his polished floor.
He crouched in front of her.
“Emma, listen to me.”
She stared at him.
“From this moment on, nobody is touching you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Really?”
Lucas nodded.
“Really.”
The study door suddenly opened.
Harold stood there.
His face was pale.
“Sir.”
Lucas rose.
“What?”
“We found Sarah Carter's employee file.”
“And?”
Harold held out a folder.
“There is something you need to see.”
Lucas opened it.
The first page was Sarah Carter's employment record.
The second page was a photograph.
Lucas stared at it.
Then he looked at Emma.
Then back at the photograph.
The picture showed Sarah standing beside another woman.
A woman Lucas knew very well.
His own mother.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Written across the back of the photograph in faded black ink were six words:
THE GIRL MUST NEVER MEET LUCAS.
Lucas's fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Harold…”
“Yes, sir?”
“Who wrote this?”
Harold shook his head.
“We don't know.”
Lucas looked toward Emma.
The little girl was staring at him innocently.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
Lucas answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a distorted male voice whispered:
“Stop asking questions about Sarah Carter.”
Lucas's eyes went cold.
The voice continued.
“Or the little girl won't survive the night.”
The line went dead.
Lucas slowly lowered the phone.
Emma looked at him.
“Mr. Blackwood?”
“Yes?”
“Are you angry?”
Lucas looked at the terrified child.
“No.”
He turned toward Harold.
“I'm furious.”
And for the first time in seven years, every security door in Blackwood Estate locked simultaneously.
Because Lucas Blackwood had just realized the little girl hadn't come to his mansion looking for a job.
May you like
She had come looking for protection.
And someone had followed her.
