The smile vanished from my face when Sebastian suddenly stared out the front window like he'd seen a ghost. Outside, Manhattan looked completely normal—yellow cabs splashing through rain puddles, people rushing by with umbrellas, the city moving as if nothing had changed. But the look in his eyes made my stomach twist.

I stood frozen beside the counter. Sebastian’s words seemed to hang suspended in the air between us, heavy and unbelievable.

"She says she knows you."

My voice shook. "Sebastian, that’s impossible. I don't know any six-year-old child who—"

Before I could finish my sentence, a violent rap sounded at the glass front door. Three distinct knocks, followed by a heavy pause, then two quick taps.

Sebastian’s posture shifted instantly. His hand reached beneath the tailored left lapel of his suit jacket, his jaw clenching into a hard, dangerous line. The gentle, vulnerable man who had been standing before me seconds ago vanished, replaced by the lethal heir of the Vance empire.

"Stay behind me, Olivia," he commanded in a low, gravelly tone.

He moved toward the door with silent, predatory grace. Through the rain-slicked glass, past the bold lettering of my sign—The Blooming Petal—a tiny figure stood beneath the canvas awning.

She wore a yellow duck-patterned raincoat that reached down to her rain boots. Her little hands were pulled deep into her pockets, and her hood was drawn low over her brow. Standing beside her was a tall man in a dark trench coat, his eyes darting frantically down the Manhattan street before he offered Sebastian a single, sharp nod and disappeared into the shadows of the downpour.

Sebastian unlocked the bolt. The door swung open, letting in a gust of damp wind and the rich scent of wet asphalt.

The little girl stepped across the threshold. She slowly pulled back her damp hood, shivering as the warm, flower-scented air of the shop enveloped her.

My breath caught in my throat.

She had dark, wild curls framing a heart-shaped face, but it was her eyes that made the breath freeze in my lungs. They were a striking, storm-gray color—identical to Sebastian’s.

Then she turned her gaze away from Sebastian and looked directly at me. Her small face instantly lit up.

"Miss Olivia?" she whispered, her voice tiny and trembling. "The flower lady?"

A sudden, overwhelming memory crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Eighteen months ago. A fragile, elegant woman named Clara had started coming into my shop every Tuesday afternoon. She was always pale, always looking over her shoulder, and always accompanied by a quiet little girl with bright eyes who loved sitting on the wooden stool by my counter while her mother browsed the forget-me-nots.

Clara had been dying. I didn't know it then, but three months into her visits, she had confided in me that she was severely ill and hiding from dangerous people. On her very last visit, she had left a small wooden box on my counter containing a payment for flowers and a note that read: If my daughter ever needs a safe place, tell her to remember the smell of lilies and the lady with the warm smile.

"Chloe?" I gasped, dropping to my knees right there on the wooden floorboards, completely ignoring the wet umbrella water pooling near the door. "Oh my god... Chloe?"

The little girl didn't hesitate. She ran straight past Sebastian and threw her arms around my neck, burying her wet face into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her small, shaking frame, holding her tight as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

Sebastian stood frozen near the door, his hand still beneath his jacket, his storm-gray eyes wide with shock as he watched the scene unfold.

"You... you know her?" Sebastian’s voice cracked, losing every drop of its usual icy composure.

I looked up at him, cradling the back of Chloe’s head. "Her mother was Clara Vance... wasn't she?"

Sebastian flinched at the name. "Clara. Yes. She was... we were together seven years ago, before my father sent me to manage our European operations. I thought she broke off contact because she wanted nothing to do with my family. I had no idea she was pregnant."

"She was sick, Sebastian," I said softly, stroking Chloe’s damp hair. "She passed away over a year ago. She brought Chloe here because she said this was the only place in New York where nobody from the 'Syndicate' was watching."

Sebastian sank to one knee, bringing himself down to eye level with the little girl. He looked at her as if she were made of delicate glass, his large, calloused hands trembling slightly as he reached out toward her.

"Chloe," he said, his voice dropping into a tender whisper he had clearly never used in his life. "My name is Sebastian. I'm... I'm your dad."

Chloe peeked out from behind my shoulder, her storm-gray eyes meeting his. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn silver locket, extending it toward him on a delicate chain.

"Mommy told me," Chloe whispered softly. "She said if I was ever scared, I had to find the locket's key. And she said the key belonged to a man with eyes just like mine."

Sebastian took the locket. With a click, the silver casing popped open. Inside was a tiny photograph of a younger Sebastian, laughing under a summer sun, alongside Clara.

A single tear escaped Sebastian’s eye, trailing down his sharp cheekbone. He pulled his daughter into a fierce, protective embrace, burying his face in her shoulder while Chloe slowly wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

I watched them from the floor, my heart aching with a mixture of profound sorrow and beautiful hope.

Suddenly, the quiet moment was shattered.

Outside, the heavy thrum of three black SUVs echoed down the street. Headlights cut through the heavy rain, shining brightly through the lowering blinds of my shop. Tires screeched as the vehicles pulled up onto the sidewalk, blocking the entrance completely.

Sebastian instantly lifted Chloe into his arms, shifting his body to put himself between her and the window. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, answered it on speaker, his eyes turning cold as slate.

"Speak," Sebastian hissed.

"Sebastian," a raspy, sinister voice filtered through the phone speaker over the sound of static. "You were foolish to think you could keep your little secret hidden in a florist's shop. Hand the girl over, and perhaps your uncle will let you keep your life."

Sebastian’s jaw locked. "Touch a single hair on her head, Vincent, and I will tear the Vance empire down stone by stone with you inside it."

"You have two minutes before my men breach the doors," the voice replied coldly, and the line went dead.

Sebastian looked at me, his eyes burning with absolute desperation and lethal intent. "Olivia... my family’s war has just arrived on your doorstep. If you stay with us, your life as you know it is over."