Chapter 1

At Dalton Group's top-floor office, Richard Dalton was in a video conference discussing a billion-dollar real estate deal.

He leaned on the back of the leather chair. His posture was lazy, and his voice was low and cold. The atmosphere in the conference room was tense.

He said, "We need to ensure the reserve price for the Serisport plot stays below—"

"Mr. Dalton." Kolter, his assistant, knocked and entered, looking uneasy. "There's a delivery for you."

Richard frowned. "Put it on the table."

"Uh..." Kolter hesitated. "The courier says it requires a personal signature, and it's COD."

Richard glanced at Kolter, surprised. Kolter had worked with him for five years and never interrupted during such critical moments.

He signaled to pause the meeting, took the delivery slip, and skimmed it.

Sender: Lilibeth Dalton. Address: Unit 603, Building 12, Southgate Estate, Serisport.

Richard's eyes narrowed slightly.

He hadn't seen the name Lilibeth in three years.

Three years ago, he'd gotten married. His wife, Emily Sullivan, was pregnant. He'd been absorbed in taking over the family business. Emily attended appointments, delivered, and did postpartum recovery alone.

By the time he realized it, she had moved out, leaving only a signed divorce agreement and a letter behind.

The letter read, "Richard, we're not meant for each other. The child stays with me, and the house is yours. Take care."

He searched for three months but couldn't find Emily. After that, he stopped looking.

It wasn't that he didn't want to find her; he had no idea what he'd say if he did. He hadn't been the kind of husband she deserved, so he had no right to hold her back.

"Place it here," Richard said calmly.

Kolter set the small package on the desk and exited.

Richard examined the box. It was palm-sized, wrapped in pink paper, and covered with cartoon stickers of bears, bunnies, and dinosaurs. The bright colors looked totally out of place in his black-and-white office.

He tore off the paper and opened it. Inside lay a folded sheet of paper and a pacifier.

The paper was letter-sized, folded twice, with slightly crumpled edges, like it had been scrunched up by tiny hands.

On it, in messy, childlike handwriting, written with alternating orange and pink markers, was a line: Daddy, Mommy told me you have to sign this. If you don't, I'll keep sending it to you.

He unfolded the paper. It was a divorce agreement.

It wasn't the one from three years ago. That one was full of legalese, neat and tidy.

This document was also printed, but its layout was messy, with cropped margins and inconsistent font sizes, as if someone had hastily edited a template downloaded online.

The key detail was that the respondent's signature line already bore a name: Lilibeth Dalton (age three and a half).

The letters were all wonky, like a kid's scrawl, but the "age three and a half" part was written with extra care, and there was a smiley face at the end.

Richard stared at the signature in silence for a long time. Then he picked up the pacifier and held it in his palm.

It was pink, with a little kitten printed on it. The tip was a bit misshapen from being chewed, and it carried a faint scent of milk mixed with a touch of strawberry.

He suddenly remembered the last time he saw his daughter Lilibeth three years ago. She was only three months old, lying in her crib and peacefully sleeping with this pacifier in her mouth.

He stood by the crib for a long time, wanted to gently touch her cheek, but was afraid he might wake her.

Then he got a call and had to deal with company business. When he came back, the baby was no longer in the crib. Emily had taken the baby and left, leaving nothing behind except the signed divorce agreement.

Three years had passed. He assumed Emily and Lilibeth had relocated to another city, perhaps another country. He didn't expect them to still be here in Serisport, only a twenty-minute drive away.

Richard put the pacifier back in the box, picked up the clumsily crafted agreement, and read it once more.

On the final line, written in pink highlighter, was a note: Daddy, if you don't sign, I'll match Mom up with our neighbor Charlie. Charlie cooks and brings her flowers. He's better than you.

Richard's face finally showed some emotion. He folded up the agreement, stuffed it into his pocket, grabbed his coat, and strode out of the office.

"Mr. Dalton?" Kolter hurried after him. "The meeting isn't over yet."

"Reschedule it," Richard said.

"But—"

"I said reschedule it," Richard repeated.

Kolter didn't dare say another word.

Richard stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the parking level.

As the doors closed, he looked at himself in the elevator's mirror and realized he was actually smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled.