Mrs. Nakano, the head housekeeper, briefed her briskly. The family valued privacy, she said. No questions. No involvement in household affairs. Milo, the young child, was extremely ill. Adriana nodded. She could follow rules. But nothing prepared her for the sight behind Milo’s bedroom door. The room was immaculate yet lifeless. The air was freezing. Milo lay curled in his crib. His skin held a grayish tinge that frightened her instantly. Something felt wrong in a way no medical explanation could satisfy.
When she lifted him to adjust his blankets, she noticed the smell first. Sharp. Chemical. She rolled up his tiny sleeve and saw a cluster of dark puncture marks under his arm. Not bruises. Not random. Precise. Fresh. Her stomach turned. She photographed the marks. Then photographed the prescription bottles beside the crib. That was when Adriana heard the footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.
The door opened. A man in an immaculate navy suit stepped inside. He introduced himself as Gareth Lockridge, Milo’s godfather and Rafael’s longtime business partner. His smile was warm but wrong. His eyes measured everything. “The room feels warmer than usual,” he remarked calmly. His tone hardened. “We keep it cool for medical reasons.” Adriana murmured an apology. Gareth’s expression never changed. “Curiosity,” he said softly, “can make life difficult in a household like this.” Then he left.
