Cassidy wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the phone against the wall, but she couldn’t because if she lost her job, she wouldn’t have money for rent, no money for milk for Emma, no money for medicine. She and her daughter would be out on the streets in this brutal winter. And Derek, her violent ex-husband who was hunting her across the city, would find her more easily than ever. Cassidy looked at Emma, drifting in and out of sleep from exhaustion. She had no one to watch her child. She made the only decision she could. Cassidy dressed Emma in extra layers, wrapped her in three blankets, and placed her in the rickety stroller she had bought from a thrift shop for $5. She stuffed a bottle, diapers, and fever medicine borrowed from a neighbor into her bag. Then she pushed the stroller out of the dark room and stepped into the white storm.
The address in the message led her to the Upper East Side. Cassidy had never set foot there before. She felt like a stain on a perfect painting. When she stopped in front of the listed address, her heart nearly stopped. Before her stood a massive mansion, dark as night, with towering iron gates carved with snarling lion heads. Cassidy stood before the iron gate for a long moment, not daring to step inside. Emma fussed in the stroller, her weak cries swallowed by the wind and snow. Cassidy drew a deep breath and pushed the heavy gate. It opened without a sound, as if perfectly oiled. A path of black stone led her through a barren garden. Stone statues stood scattered on both sides. Cassidy shivered and pulled the blanket tighter over Emma’s face. The mansion’s front door was made of massive oak. She pushed lightly, and the door opened as though the house had been waiting for her.
Inside, the main hall was as vast as a cathedral. The black marble floor shown like a mirror reflecting her small lost figure. Cassidy felt like an ant that had wandered into the palace of demons. Something about this house terrified her to the bone. The air was heavy and cold, carrying a scent of loneliness and pain. A thin layer of dust covered everything. Emma broke into a long coughing fit. Cassidy needed to find warmth immediately. She opened the first door on the ground level—a living room, but the heater was broken. She rushed into the next room—a dining room. The heater there was broken, too. Panic began to rise in her chest. She gathered Emma into her arms and ran up the staircase. The guest bedroom, the library, the recreation room—all broken. Emma began to cry louder. Then, at the end of the hallway on the third floor, she found a study with a heater that released warm air.
Cassidy nearly cried with relief. She placed Emma near the heater, removed some layers, and gave her medicine. Emma slowly calmed, her heavy eyelids drifting shut. Cassidy tucked the baby monitor into her pocket and decided to start working while Emma slept. She didn’t know that as she was scrubbing the staircase on the first floor, a sleek black car had stopped outside and the owner of the mansion was walking into his own home. Cassidy was kneeling on the 12th stair when she heard the crying—Emma’s cry, but it was the cry of fear. Cassidy dropped the mop and shot up the stairs. The baby monitor in her pocket made no sound; it had broken. She ran through the hallway. Emma’s crying stopped. The sudden silence was terrifying.
She shoved open the study door and froze. A man stood in the center of the room with his back to her, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a long black coat. In his arms was Emma, resting against the chest of a stranger. Cassidy saw a sleek black gun on the wooden desk. The man was gently swaying, a low shushing sound leaving his mouth. Then the man turned around. His face was sharp as granite, eyes the color of a storm. Yet deep within those eyes, Cassidy saw deep pain.
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