Clara held the trembling flashlight as the wealthy CEO pointed a heavy silver revolver right at her chest. “I paid you to take his pulse, Clara, not to ask questions about the boy in the dark,” Richard hissed, his eyes dead and cold. She backed up against the freezing concrete wall, her hand gripping the stolen birth certificate that proved everything. If she dropped the paper, she might walk out of this mansion alive, but the little boy behind her would never see the sun again.

Chapter 1: The Forbidden Floor

The first scream should have made Clara grab her coat and run out the front door.

It came from deep inside the massive Hamptons estate, sharp enough to cut right through the expensive, suffocating silence.

Clara froze at the top of the grand marble staircase.

She gripped the wooden railing so tightly her knuckles turned entirely white.

“Did you hear that?” Clara whispered into the empty hallway.

There was no answer.

She was supposed to be completely alone on the second floor with her patient.

Arthur Sterling, the billionaire founder of Sterling Global, was asleep in the master suite.

He was eighty-nine years old and hadn’t spoken a coherent word in three months.

Clara was hired purely to monitor his failing heart and administer his pain medication.

His youngest son, Richard, had been very clear about her boundaries when she arrived yesterday.

“You stay in my father’s room, and you stay in the kitchen,” Richard had ordered.

Richard was a terrifying man with sharp suits and an even sharper temper.

“If I catch you wandering near the basement stairs, your career in this state is over,” he had warned her.

But as Clara stood in the dark hallway, the scream echoed again.

It wasn’t an old man’s cry of pain.

It was the high-pitched, terrifying sob of a small child.

Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Most people would have locked their bedroom door and minded their own business. What would you have done?

Clara couldn’t just walk away.

She slowly crept down the grand staircase, her soft nursing shoes making absolutely no sound on the imported rugs.

The sprawling mansion felt more like a museum than a family home.

Everything was covered in shadows, smelling faintly of expensive wax and old secrets.

She reached the massive iron door that led to the basement level.

It was locked tight with a heavy brass padlock.

Clara pressed her ear against the cold metal surface.

From somewhere deep below the ground, a soft, trembling voice started to sing.

It was a very old, obscure Appalachian lullaby.

It was the exact same song Clara’s mother used to sing to her before she passed away.

A cold chill violently ripped down Clara’s spine.

“Who is down there?” Clara whispered to the heavy iron door.

The singing suddenly stopped.

“Please,” a tiny voice whimpered through the heavy steel. “I am so hungry.”

Clara gasped, clapping a hand over her own mouth.

Before she could say another word, the heavy front door of the mansion clicked open.

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