Chapter 1
It was 11 PM, and all of Riverdale was swallowed up by a heavy rainstorm.
A sleek black Maybach idled by the curb, its headlights carving two stark beams through the curtain of rain.
Inside the car, Edward Sterling pressed fingers to his temple, a profound weariness etched between his brows.
At thirty-two, he was the youngest heir to control Sterling Holdings, a figure who commanded fear in boardrooms and a man of icy reputation and a fortune in tens of billions.
The tabloids speculated endlessly about his private life, whispering of his disinterest in women, even questioning his orientation.
Only Edward knew the truth. His distance stemmed from a single night five years ago, an encounter that had left him numb to all others.
Whenever he closed his eyes, the memory surfaced: a pair of teary eyes in the dark.
He never learned her name, only recalled a foolishly brave woman rushing to his aid when he'd been drugged.
Edward had lost consciousness and awoke to an empty room, save for a single, tiny pearl earring left behind.
For five years, he'd searched. Nothing.
"Mr. Sterling, the rain is getting worse. Should we head to the nearby apartment?" His driver, Tom Moore, ventured cautiously.
"No. We're heading—" Edward replied.
Edward began to order their departure when movement in the side mirror caught his eye.
He turned his head to get a better look.
A small figure was huddled on the wet pavement beside the rear tire, drenched and shivering.
It was a child.
*****
It was a boy of maybe four or five, soaked to the skin, clutching a grimy stuffed animal tightly to his chest. He was curled into a ball, a pitiful, abandoned creature.
Edward's brow furrowed.
He had no fondness for children; he disliked anything noisy and irrational.
But the storm was brutal.
Pushing the car door open, he stepped out with an umbrella.
Up close, the boy's condition was clearer. His blue t-shirt and shorts were plastered to a thin frame, revealing a fragile spine.
Wet hair clung to a pale forehead; his lips were tinged with blue.
Hearing the footsteps, the child slowly lifted his head.
Edward's whole body stiffened.
Large, round eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, lit by the nearby streetlamp—hazel and twinkling, like sun-dappled honey glinting in the lamplight.
They were just like hers—the woman from five years ago.
But it wasn't just the eyes.
The contours of the small face, the set of the thin lips? Everything mirrored someone else.
The resemblance was uncanny. It was like Edward was staring at a younger version of himself.
Edward's breath hitched, his grip tightening on the umbrella handle.
"Mister..." The boy's voice was soft and hoarse, pushed out with evident effort. "Can you... help me make a call?"
Edward crouched down, his gaze fixed on that hauntingly familiar face. "To whom?"
"To my mom." The boy's eyes grew teary, but he stubbornly held the tears back. "She's sick. I went to get her medicine, but... I got lost."
From his pocket, he produced a crumpled slip of paper with a phone number scrawled in shaky handwriting.
As Edward took the paper, his attention never wavered from the child.
"What's your name?" Edward asked.
"Leo Sterling," the boy replied.
Edward's breath caught in his throat.
"What about your dad?" Edward asked.
Leo dropped his head, his little hand absently twisting the ear of his dirty plushie.
His voice was barely a whisper, stating a long-accepted fact, "I don't have a dad. Mom says he went somewhere very, very far away. He's not coming back."
Silence hung between them for three heavy seconds.
Then, Edward shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around the small, shivering form. "Come on. Let's get you into the car."
Lifting him was a shock. The boy was light as a feather.
Small, ice-cold hands instinctively grasped Edward's shirt collar, the chill seeping into his skin.
"Mister..." Leo whispered.
"Yeah?" Edward replied.
"You're so warm," Leo said softly.
As Edward looked down at the small face nestled against him, something dormant in Edward's chest for five years gave a fierce, sudden lurch.