CHAPTER 2 — THE GIRL WITH THE WHITE FLOWER (
The girl did not move.
Neither did Victor Marlowe.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft mechanical hum of the chandelier dimmer reacting to the cold air drifting in from the hallway.
Declan shifted slightly behind Victor’s wheelchair.
His hand instinctively moved toward the inside of his jacket.
“Victor…” he warned quietly.
But Victor raised one hand.
Not looking away from the child.
“Don’t.”
The girl stepped one small pace forward.
Her shoes squeaked faintly against the marble floor.
She looked at the long table, at the empty chairs, at the untouched cake with thirty-nine candles burning down into uneven wax rivers.
Then she looked back at him.
“You’re the man nobody came to see,” she said.
Her voice was small.
But it did not shake.
Declan’s expression hardened immediately.
“Who brought her in here?”
No one answered.
The hallway outside remained empty.
Victor studied her face more carefully now.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Something else.
Purpose.
“Why are you here?” Victor asked.
The girl lifted her hand slowly.
She held out the white flower.
It was slightly crushed at the stem, petals uneven, like it had been hidden in her coat for a long time.
“My mom said I had to give this to you,” she said.
Victor did not take it yet.
“Your mother sent you into a room full of men like me?”
The girl nodded.
“She said you would understand it better if I gave it to you when you were alone.”
A faint tension shifted through the air.
Declan stepped forward half a step.
“Victor, this is not—”
Victor cut him off again without turning.
“Stay where you are.”
Declan stopped, but his eyes stayed locked on the child.
Victor finally reached out.
He took the flower.
The moment his fingers touched it, something changed in the girl’s expression.
Relief.
Like she had been holding her breath for a very long time.
Victor looked down at the flower.
Then at her.
“What’s your name?”
“Lila.”
“Lila,” he repeated slowly. “How old are you?”
“Seven.”
He nodded once.
Then his gaze sharpened slightly.
“And what did your mother tell you about me?”
The girl hesitated.
For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her face.
“She said…” Lila swallowed. “She said you were the only person who didn’t deserve to be alone tonight.”
The room went still.
Even Declan stopped moving.
Victor stared at her.
For a fraction of a second, something almost imperceptible crossed his face.
Not softness.
Not yet.
But recognition.
As if a memory had been touched.
A memory buried too deep to surface easily.
“You came here through security?” Declan asked sharply.
Lila nodded.
“The lady at the front desk let me in.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s impossible.”
But Victor already understood something Declan did not.
It wasn’t impossible.
It was arranged.
Someone had made sure she got in.
Someone had wanted her here.
Victor turned the white flower slowly between his fingers.
“What else did your mother say?” he asked.
Lila looked down at the floor.
“She said if you didn’t take it… then everything would stay broken.”
Silence followed.
A heavy, uncomfortable silence that pressed against the walls of the room.
Outside the glass, Chicago continued to move like nothing important had happened.
Inside, Victor Marlowe felt something he had not felt in a very long time.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Curiosity.
He leaned slightly forward in his wheelchair.
“Broken how?” he asked.
The girl’s eyes lifted.
And in that moment, everything shifted.
“She said…” Lila whispered, “you already know what they did to you.”
Victor’s grip tightened around the flower.
Declan took a full step forward now.
“That’s enough. This is staged. Someone is playing a game.”
But Victor didn’t respond to him.
His attention was fully on the child.
“Where is your mother?” he asked.
Lila hesitated.
Then she said the words that changed the temperature in the room.
“She’s outside… but she’s scared to come in.”
Victor’s eyes sharpened.
“Of who?”
The girl looked at him.
“Of your family.”
The name hit the room like a dropped glass.
Declan froze.
Victor did not.
But something in his expression hardened instantly.
“Which family member?” he asked quietly.
Lila looked down again.
Then she said:
“Gabriel.”
The silence that followed was different from before.
This one had weight.
Intent.
Danger.
Victor slowly placed the flower on the table beside his untouched plate.
His voice was calm.
But colder now.
“Declan.”
“Yes.”
“Find out where Gabriel is.”
Declan nodded immediately.
“And bring me everyone who was supposed to be here tonight.”
Declan hesitated only once.
Then:
“Yes, Victor.”
He turned and walked out quickly.
The door closed behind him.
Leaving Victor alone with the child.
And the sound of thirty-nine burning candles slowly dying in wax.
Lila watched him carefully.
“You’re not angry,” she said.
Victor tilted his head slightly.
“Should I be?”
She thought about that.
Then shook her head.
“My mom said you stopped feeling things like that a long time ago.”
That landed differently.
Not like an insult.
Like someone reading him out loud.
Victor leaned back slightly in his wheelchair.
“Your mother talks about me like she knows me.”
“She does,” Lila said simply.
A pause.
Then she added:
“She used to work for you.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
That was the first crack.
Very small.
But real.
“What is her name?” he asked.
Lila looked at him.
May you like
And answered:
“Anna.”
