SILENT ECHOES

The next morning, the mansion woke up to the sound of an argument in the main study.

Dominic’s uncle, Arthur Vale, had arrived unexpectedly. Arthur was a broad, silver-haired man with expensive tailor-made suits and a loud, commanding laugh that felt entirely out of place in the somber house. He was Dominic’s primary business partner in the logistics and shipping side of the Vale enterprise.

"You're losing your edge, Dominic," Arthur’s voice boomed through the mahogany doors, carrying easily into the foyer where Clara was polishing the banister. "The docks in South Chicago are slipping. The union reps are asking questions about the delayed cargo, and you're spending your days hiding in this mausoleum fussing over a child who can't even say his own name!"

"Watch your tone in my house, Arthur," Dominic warned, his voice low, cold, and lethal.

"I'm speaking as your family, Dom!" Arthur countered, slamming a hand down on a desk. "Julianna's death broke us all, but it’s been two years. The boy is a liability. Put him in that private facility in Vermont. They have specialized staff. Let them handle him so you can get back to running the business before our investors start getting nervous."

Clara’s hands tightened around her polishing rag. Vermont. A private facility. It was a polite way of saying an asylum for a child who hadn't even started kindergarten.

The study door flew open, and Arthur stepped out, adjusting his silk tie. His eyes swept over Clara with cold indifference before he turned back to Dominic, who stood in the doorway looking like a man carrying the weight of a dying empire on his shoulders.

"Think about it, nephew," Arthur said smoothly. "For the sake of the company. And the boy."

As Arthur walked toward the front entrance, he brushed past a small table near the coat rack. A sudden clack echoed through the hall.

Arthur had dropped his gold-plated lighter.

Before he could bend down to pick it up, Noah appeared out of nowhere from behind the heavy velvet drapes.

The moment Noah saw the lighter—and heard the sharp, metallic flick as Arthur instinctively picked it up and sparked the flame—the boy let out an ear-splitting shriek.

Noah didn't just throw a tantrum. He lunged at Arthur, his small teeth sinking deep into Arthur’s wrist.

"Get off me, you little freak!" Arthur roared, violently backhanding the four-year-old child.

Noah flew backward, his small body striking the marble floor with a sickening thud.

Dominic moved before anyone else could breathe. In half a second, he had Arthur pinned against the wood-paneled wall by his throat, his face inches from his uncle's, his dark eyes filled with absolute, murderous fury.

"If you ever lay a hand on my son again," Dominic whispered, his voice trembling with a violence that made the guards reach for their holster straps, "I will feed you to the concrete foundations at Pier 4."