The string quartet stopped between notes. A waiter holding a tray of crystal flutes lowered his hand as if the glasses had grown too heavy

By seven o’clock the following morning, Damon’s penthouse was under siege.

A sensationalized headline had exploded across the city’s major tabloid:

**“BILLIONAIRE DAMON CROSS ABDUCTS CHILD FROM CHARITY GALA: SOCIALITE ELISA ROCHEFORT CLAIMS ASSAULT!”**

The story claimed Damon had suffered a public breakdown, harassed guests, and illegally taken a minor ward of the state into his custody. Outside the high-rise gates, television news vans were already lined up bumper-to-bumper, their cameras aimed at the glass tower.

Inside, Maya sat at the kitchen island, swinging her small legs.

She wore a pair of soft pink pajamas Clara had bought from a 24-hour boutique, her brown curls freshly washed and brushed into shiny ringlets. In front of her sat a plate of blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh strawberries.

She had eaten three pancakes and was staring at the glass of warm milk as if it were pure magic.

“Mr. Damon?” Maya called out hesitantly, watching him review documents at the dining table.

Damon immediately set his papers aside and walked over with a warm smile. “Yes, Maya? What is it?”

“Am I... am I allowed to eat the strawberry too?” she asked, her voice timid. “The red lady said I wasn't allowed to touch fruit.”

Damon felt a knot in his throat. He sat on the barstool next to her and picked up the bowl of fresh strawberries, setting it right in front of her. “Maya, you can eat every single strawberry in this house. You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want. Nobody will ever take food away from you again. Do you understand?”

Maya’s eyes widened. She grabbed a strawberry and took a bite, closing her eyes in sheer delight. “It’s sweet,” she giggled. It was the first time Damon had heard her laugh. The sound cut right through the tension in the room.

The front door chimed with an aggressive, persistent buzz.

Marcus appeared from the hallway, his face tight. “Boss. It’s Child Protective Services. And they didn't come alone. They brought Detective Miller and Arthur Rochefort’s personal attorney.”

Maya heard the word *Child Protective Services* and dropped her fork. Her smile vanished in an instant. Her skin went paper-white.

“No!” Maya shrieked, scrambling off the stool and throwing herself behind Damon’s legs, clinging to his trousers in sheer panic. “Don't let them take me back to the dark room! Please, Mr. Damon! Don't let the bad lady take me!”

Damon picked her up, holding her close against his chest. Her heart was hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs.

“Look at me, Maya,” Damon said firmly, cupping her face. “Look at my eyes.”

Maya looked up through thick tears.

“I made you a promise,” Damon told her with fierce conviction. “Nobody takes you out of this house. Ever. Clara, take Maya into the library and read her the book with the animals.”

Clara stepped forward, gently taking Maya by the hand and guiding her into the back room.

Once the library door closed, Damon turned toward the front foyer. The gentleness on his face dissolved completely, replaced by an expression of cold, terrifying authority.