Chapter 1

"So you're telling me my five-year-old daughter got on a plane all by herself, flew from Maltowel to Winmere City, and is now sitting in a police station reciting pi to a bunch of officers?"

Benjamin tossed his phone onto the table and switched it to speaker. He was still holding the merger agreement he had just torn in half, one piece in each hand. He stood there in the conference room, completely frozen.

On the other end, his partner, Leroy, sounded like he was trying really hard not to laugh. "Yeah. And she's already past the three hundredth digit after the decimal. The officers tried to stop her, but she said she wanted to finish this part first."

Benjamin shut his eyes for a second.

He was thirty-two years old, a founding partner of Grandwave Capital, and ranked in the top thirty on the wealth list. In the industry, people called him a genius when it came to mergers and acquisitions.

He'd always thought he'd seen everything. Rivals had threatened him. Partners had betrayed him. Investors had smashed glasses right in front of his face.

But none of that felt as ridiculous as this.

"What's her name?" Benjamin asked quietly.

"She says her name is Sylvie Strickland. Her mom's name is Belle Preston," Leroy said.

The half of the merger agreement in Benjamin's hand slipped loose and fell to the floor with a soft slap.

*****

Benjamin hadn't heard the name "Belle" in five years—five years, three months, and seventeen days.

It wasn't that he had a good memory. It was that every second of that night had been burned into him.

The bar was dim. They drank too much whiskey. A woman leaned into his shoulder, warm and steady.

And then the next morning, he woke up to an empty space beside him and a note on the pillow. He remembered it all as if it had just happened.

The note was short. [Last night was nice, but I don't need trouble. Goodbye.]

There was no name, no number, nothing to follow up on.

He'd actually laughed about it back then. He was always the one who left. It was the first time someone had walked out on him, and she'd done it clean.

He spent two months trying to find her. The bar's security footage had already been overwritten. The name she gave was fake. Even that bit about working in Franlucon was probably a lie.

After two months, all he had was her name. So he let it go.

He was thirty, and his career was taking off, deals piling up one after another. He didn't have time to sit around missing a woman who had vanished overnight.

And now, five years later, someone was telling him that the woman had his daughter. And that the girl was here.

It didn't even sound real.

"Say that again. How did she get here?" Benjamin asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Leroy let out a laugh. "She bought her own ticket. She used the extra card on her mom's account, checked in online, picked a seat, and went through security. No one questioned it. Not once.

"It wasn't until she started chatting in Franluconian with the passenger next to her about The Second Sex that a flight attendant realized something was off."

Benjamin bent down and picked up the torn half of the contract from the floor. His face didn't change. "Send me the police station address."

"What about your deal?" Leroy asked.

"Let Chad handle it. They're trying to push the price down. We're not agreeing to that anyway. They can wait a few days." With that, he hung up.

For three seconds, he stood there, completely still. Then he turned and headed for the elevator.

At the front desk, the receptionist peeked over. "Mr. Strickland, they're still waiting in the conference room."

"Let them wait," he said, stepping inside the elevator.

The doors slid shut. He stared at his reflection in the brushed steel wall and adjusted his collar.

That was when he noticed it. His fingers were shaking.

It was not from anger.

They were shaking from the thought of the five-year-old girl he had never met who had traveled that distance alone just to find him.

It felt like he'd been walking on solid ground his whole life, and suddenly the earth had split open beneath him. He was falling now. He just didn't know if he'd land on something soft or something that would break him.

His matte gray Porsche Cayenne usually handled like a dream, but today, he nearly scraped a pillar just getting out of the underground garage.

Forty minutes later, he pulled up to the police station.

Before he even stepped inside, he heard a small, clear voice. "Officer, did you know that the 762nd digit after the decimal point in pi is actually part of a very interesting repeating pattern? I can show you if you'd like."

"No, no, that's okay," a middle-aged officer said, sounding exhausted. "My brain's had enough for today."

Benjamin pushed the door open.

And then he saw her. A tiny girl was sitting on a chair with her legs too short to reach the floor. She was swinging her legs slightly in the air.

She wore a soft yellow dress. Her hair was tied into two small buns. Her face, small enough to fit in his palm, was delicate, almost unreal, with big, bright eyes that seemed too sharp for her age.

On the table in front of her sat a cup of cold coffee and an unopened pack of cookies.

Something in his chest tightened. Her eyes, her brows, and the faint curve at the corner of her lips—she looked like a miniature version of Belle.

But the line of her jaw and the shape of her forehead—that was him.

"Are you Sylvie?" he asked, his voice rougher than he'd expected.

The little girl looked up, her gaze landing on him.

She didn't shrink back or glance away as most five-year-olds would. Instead, she studied him.

For three full seconds, she looked him over from his hair to his tie, his cufflinks, and finally his shoes.

Then she flashed a satisfied smile.

"You're Benjamin," she said. It wasn't a question. "Your eye color matches mine. You have the same earlobe shape—a dominant trait. Your brow bone is high, like mine. And..."

She slid off the chair, walked over, and stopped right in front of him, tilting her head up. "You touch your collar when you're nervous. You've done it twice in the three seconds since you walked in. That means you care about me."

For a moment, Benjamin had no idea what to say.

Beside them, the officer finally exhaled like he'd been holding it in all along.

He stood up. "You're Mr. Strickland, right? She says she's here to find her father. She gave us your name and details.

"We checked. Everything matches. But she won't give us her mother's contact info. She says her mom doesn't know she's here yet and that once she realizes the kid's not at the hotel, she'll call."

Benjamin looked down at Sylvie, who barely reached his thigh.

Sylvie tipped her head slightly. Her tone was calm, almost professional. "You don't need to worry. I'm not here to ask for child support.

"We live in District Sixteen in Maltowel. My mom's an architect. She earns enough for both of us. I came to see you for personal reasons."

"Personal reasons?" Benjamin repeated. He was nervous.

"Yes." She nodded, serious as if she were giving a lecture. "I need to talk to you. But this isn't a good place. Can we go somewhere quieter?"

She didn't sound like a five-year-old. Not even close.

Benjamin drew in a slow breath, then turned to the officer. "What do I need to sign?"

"Just here." The officer flipped through his notes. "Oh, and she mentioned she's staying in the presidential suite at the Silvermoon Hotel."

Benjamin glanced at Sylvie again.

He wasn't surprised Belle had money. She was an architect, confident and composed. Even back then, it had been obvious she was successful.

But a five-year-old flying across the country to find her biological father and staying alone in a presidential suite? It still didn't feel real.

He signed the paperwork, then crouched down so they were eye level. "Does your mom know you left?"

Sylvie blinked once. "She should be on a flight back to Maltowel right now. It'll take about three hours before she lands and realizes I'm not at the hotel. So for the next three hours, we're safe."

"Safe?" Benjamin echoed.

"Yes. Safe from her finding out," Sylvie said. "She'd be very angry if she knew I came to see you."

Benjamin thought of that note again. [I don't need trouble.] He stayed quiet for a beat.

"Let's go," he said finally, holding out his hand. "I'll take you back to the hotel."

Sylvie looked at his hand but didn't take it. Instead, she turned and started walking toward the door on her own.

"You don't need to hold my hand," she said as she went. "I won't get lost. I already made it here by myself. I remember the way from the hotel to the station."

Benjamin slowly lowered his hand and followed after her.

It was strange to see a tall man trailing behind a very small child.

At the door, a junior officer watched them leave, then quietly snapped a picture and sent it to his work group chat. [I've seen dads meet their kids before, but never like this. The kid looks like the boss. The dad looks like her bodyguard.]