The silence inside The Pines was heavy, the kind of quiet that only comes with too much space and not enough people. It felt as though the shadows in the corners of the great hall were breathing. The air smelled of old cedar, cold ash, and a lingering sense of loss. Standing before the fireplace was a man in a tailored dark suit, as motionless as a statue.
His name was Andrew Sterling—a tech mogul, philanthropist, and a legend in the American business world. He was also a man whose heart had effectively stopped beating ten years ago. He stared at the portrait above the mantle. A boy with soft brown hair looked back at him, wearing a small blazer and clutching a wooden toy boat.
His son, Ethan. The boy’s smile was so vivid that Andrew felt if he just blinked, Ethan would hop out of the frame and run toward him, laughing. Но ten years ago, the laughter in this house died. Today was the anniversary of the disappearance.
Andrew remembered every second of that day in the park. The sun-drenched afternoon, the panic, the way he screamed until his voice gave out, holding a single small sneaker found in the sand. Since then, his life had been a hollow shell.
He had built a business empire to numb the pain and surrounded himself with wealth to hide from the memories, but no amount of money could buy peace. He stood perfectly still, as if any movement might shatter the fragile illusion of order he maintained. In the fireplace, a log popped. The flickering light danced across the portrait, making the boy’s eyes seem to move.
Andrew let out a slow breath. “Ethan,” he whispered. In the silence, he heard a rustle—a light, cautious sound on the hardwood floor behind him. He frowned. He had given strict orders not to be disturbed today.
— “Who’s there?” he asked coldly, without turning around.
— “I’m so sorry, Mr. Sterling,” a woman’s voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Andrew turned slowly. Standing in the doorway was the new housekeeper, Ellen. She was a pale, modest woman in a grey uniform, her head bowed. Her hands were white-knuckled around a dusting cloth.
— “I said no visitors today,” he said, his voice low.
— “I know, sir,” she whispered. “It’s just… my car broke down this morning, and I had no one to watch my daughter. She promised to stay in the kitchen.”
Andrew tightened his jaw. Daughter? Only then did he notice the small figure behind her. A thin girl of about twelve, with long blonde hair and a simple school dress.
She was peeking out from behind her mother, staring at him with large blue eyes that seemed far too old for her face.
— “Take the child away,” he said sharply…
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