Before six in the morning, in a worn-down but not-quite-old apartment complex in Averton, furious pounding exploded through the hallway and straight into the west-side unit on the eighth floor.
The noise hit so suddenly it made two-and-a-half-year-old Nina jump, her big eyes filling with tears.
She reached out her pudgy little hands and pushed at her mother—still lying there, burning with fever and completely unresponsive.
"Mommy… door…" Nina whimpered.
"Knock knock… someone knock…"
Her tiny voice shook. When her mom still didn't move, Nina sniffled, grabbed the half-full milk bottle, and pressed it to her mother's lips.
"Mommy… drink…
Nina go chase bad guy!"
With all the bravery her tiny body could muster, she scrambled off the bed. She grabbed her plastic toy gun, holding it exactly the way she'd seen cops do on TV—except her hands were trembling so hard the gun rattled.
"Go 'way!" she yelled at the door.
"Mommy no home! Nina no home!"
Her little voice wobbled the whole way through, but she tried so hard to sound fierce.
Then—
A faint click.
Someone was picking the lock.
Before she could even turn around, the front door burst open with a bang.
A middle-aged man barged in, face twisted with rage.
"Little bastard! You didn't hear me knocking?" he roared.
"You're just like that useless bitch—can't do a single damn thing right! Can't even open a door! Where's your mom? Quit playing dead! Come out and get me the money!"
This was Liam Parker—her uncle.
Nina had just been knocked over by the door and had fallen hard. Her little forehead bumped the floor, forming a small red welt. She clutched her head with a trembling hand.
"No… no money…" she cried.
"Mommy sick… Nina no money…"
Tears streamed down her cheeks—soft, round, helpless.
Amelia Parker, Nina's mother, had once been a rising actress—beautiful, fiery, and impossible to push around. That stubbornness had cost her everything. Investors hated that she wouldn't play along. Her own adoptive family had never treated her well. And three years ago, a so-called friend drugged her, sending her into the wrong hotel room…
A stranger's room.
She'd gotten pregnant, done her research, realized the man was powerful, wealthy, terrifyingly handsome—and cold enough to freeze the sun. He never dated, never got involved, never cared.
She didn't want anything from him.
She only wanted her baby, a connection she longed for, so she secretly gave birth to Nina.
But today, Amelia was too sick to even lift her head. When Nina saw Liam heading for the bedroom, she rolled to her feet and threw herself at his leg.
"No hurt Mommy!" she wailed.
"Unca Liam go 'way!"
That snapped something in Liam.
He grabbed Nina by her collar with one hand and stormed toward the balcony.
“Bastard! Your mom's been stingy with me from the moment she had you!
You think moving apartments can stop me? I'll always find her!"
He shoved open the window, cold wind blasting into the room—and dangled Nina outside.
Eight floors up.
The ground looked impossibly far away.
Nina kicked, her tiny body flailing in the freezing air.
"Mommyyyy—!" she screamed.
“Help! Nina fall!"
"Shut up!" Liam barked, spittle flying.
Then he shouted toward the bedroom:
“Amelia! You hear me? Get me the money or I swear to God I'll drop her!
You want this kid to live or not?!”
Nina sobbed until her whole body shook. She didn't even notice the emerald pendant swinging wildly on her chest—the only thing she'd ever gotten from her father.
Liam noticed it though.
His eyes narrowed.
"I knew you had money! That pendant's real, isn't it? Give it here!"
He reached for it.
Nina slapped both hands over her necklace, sobbing hard.
"No! Mine!
Mine—!"
She fought him with everything she had, kicking, twisting—forgetting she was still hanging out a window.
Liam's arm, already tired, started going numb.
Her sudden struggling made his grip slip.
"Stop—damn it—"
He let out a furious yell, ready to pull that chubby little thing back in.
But, his fingers gave out.
“Shit—!”
Nina fell.
Liam collapsed right where he stood, face draining of color.
"I'm dead… I'm so dead…"
Eight floors.
Even an adult wouldn't survive.
Meanwhile, Nina plummeted through the air. The wind slapped her cheeks as she fell—weightless, terrified, too young to even understand what was happening.
THUD!
Her tiny body hit the ground.
Blood trickled across the pavement, touching the emerald—
and the pendant lit up, releasing a soft, mysterious glow that wrapped around her life force.
Seconds later, a luxury car screeched to a halt.
“Mr. Graham! There's a kid—she's… she's not moving! Probably dead." Ethan, the driver, shouted.
William Graham's face darkened instantly when he heard the word "dead".
His own son, Benjamin, was lying in a private hospital, one breath away from dying.
And the only person who hadn't given up was a fortune-teller who claimed Benjamin was fated to have a daughter—
a daughter blessed with luck.
A daughter who could save him.
But Benjamin was cold, detached, almost inhumanly uninterested in women.
A daughter had seemed impossible.
Meaning his last hope was gone.
William's voice dropped, low and deadly serious.
"Get that child in the car. Don't let her die."
"Yes, sir!"
Ethan rushed out, lifted Nina gently—carefully, like she might break apart—and hurried back.
"Sir, should I place her beside you?"
William nodded.
But the moment he saw her little face, he froze.
"This girl… she looks exactly like Benjamin did when he was a child."
Her features—tiny, delicate, unmistakable.
Then William's gaze fell on the emerald pendant.
His breath stopped.
"This is Benjamin's pendant… the one he had since he was little!"
He stared from the pendant to Nina's pale, lifeless face.
Then everything hit him at once.
"Ethan!" he barked.
"Step on it.
"Get her to the hospital—now!"
