He would soon learn their names: Harper, Wren, Daisy, and Skye Whitlock—eight-year-old sisters who had survived with nothing but each other.
“You don’t have to be strong tonight,” Spencer told them.
He wasn’t sure whether he meant them… or himself.
Harper hesitated, torn between fear and duty. But when little Skye’s lips turned blue and Daisy swayed from cold, she nodded.
Within moments, Camille and Javier wrapped the girls in blankets and loaded them into the car. For the first time in days—maybe weeks—they felt warmth.
A Night of Firsts
Spencer’s cavernous mansion lit up the moment they stepped inside.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Winslow, gasped as four tiny figures walked past her in blankets.
“These are Harper, Wren, Daisy, and Skye,” Spencer said. “Prepare hot baths. And dinner. Something warm.”
“Yes, sir.”
That night, the long dining table—built for twenty but rarely touched—was alive again.
The girls devoured roasted chicken, spaghetti, and chocolate ice cream.
Spencer barely ate.
He simply watched… feeling something awaken in him.
A purpose.
A New Resolve
The next morning, Spencer called his attorney, Roland Price.
“Start adoption proceedings,” Spencer said.
Roland blinked. “Spencer… you’re adopting four children? With your condition? No court will allow it.”
“Then find a way.”
“They have no documents, no relatives—this could take years.”
“Then we fight. Even if I don’t make it, they’ll know someone finally fought for them.”
A Home Transformed
Weeks passed. The mansion softened:
Harper inspected every lock and rule like a young guardian.
Wren discovered the library and filled it with sketches until Spencer gave her a full art kit.
Daisy skipped everywhere, spilling laughter like sunlight.
Quiet little Skye stayed close to Spencer, holding his hand when he looked tired.
They healed him.
And he healed them.
Then Came the Threat
Spencer’s nephew—Clive Rylan—arrived unannounced, eyes sharp and calculating.
“So it’s true,” Clive sneered. “You’ve turned this place into a charity ward?”
“They’re my family,” Spencer replied.
“You’re dying. Someone has to protect the estate from your… sentimentality.”
Spencer didn’t raise his voice.
“I built everything I have. And I choose where it goes.”
Clive smirked. “The courts will say otherwise.”
It was a declaration of war.
The Decline
Spencer’s health collapsed faster than anyone expected.
Machines filled the library, turning it into a medical ward.
The girls grew quiet, staying near him—drawing, reading, humming soft tunes.
And then came the night everything fell apart.
The Night the Machines Went Silent
See more on the next page
Advertisement
