Just below the girl’s jaw, half-hidden by her collar, was a pale, crescent-shaped mark.
Victor froze.
The breath caught in his throat.
He knew that mark.
He had known it all his life.
His younger sister bore the same one—same curve, same spot. As children, she used to laugh about it, calling it a little moon that followed her everywhere. Years later, when their family fractured under the weight of anger and loss, she began hiding it beneath scarves, as though covering it could erase everything that had broken between them.
She disappeared from his life almost twenty years ago.
And now, standing at his gates, was a girl with the very same mark—one that no amount of money, power, or preparation could explain away.
“Who are you?” Victor asked, the edge in his voice slicing through the stillness of the morning before he could soften it.
The girl startled. She instinctively shifted, tightening the cloth that secured the baby, as though preparing to be turned away or escorted off the property. Her gaze flicked toward the guards, then cautiously returned to Victor.
