Manchester, the Jordan family home.

Valentine's Day. Cheerful decorations draped across the usually quiet house, lending a rare warmth to the place. Then a scream shattered the twilight.

"Ahhh—"

A sickening thud. A heavily pregnant woman tumbled down the staircase!

Gasps filled the air as everyone rushed over.

Michael Jordan, the family patriarch, holding the highest status in the Jordan family home, dropped to his knees beside her, voice tight with panic. "Hannah, are you okay?"

Blood pooled beneath her legs. Her face was a mask of terror as she sobbed, "Michael, it hurts so much... our baby... please, save our baby!"

Mrs. Jordan, mother of Michael Jordan, was beside herself, wailing over and over, "What happened?!"

Tears streaming, Hannah lifted her gaze to the top of the stairs.

Everyone followed her look. There, clutching a worn teddy bear, stood a tiny girl—maybe three and a half years old.

Mr. Jordan, father of Michael Jordan, shouted furiously, "Did you push Hannah?"

The little girl bit her lip. "It wasn't me, I didn't do it..."

Hannah, still crying, tried to sound gentle. "No... Father, it wasn't Avani's fault. She's just a baby, she doesn't understand. She didn't mean to…"

Her words only seemed to hammer the blame onto little Avani.

Michael Jordan's eyes narrowed into slits. He didn't ask another question. "Someone lock her in the attic. I'll deal with her when I get back!"

As the chaos scrambled to get Hannah to the hospital, little Avani was dragged upstairs, one tiny shoe slipping off along the way. Defiance burned in her face. She didn't beg. She didn't cry.

The attic was dark and cramped—no light, no heat. Cold enough that shadows seemed like monsters waiting to pounce.

Avani hugged her teddy bear tight and curled up in a corner. It was so cold...

She hadn't pushed anyone. So why did nobody believe her?

The old saying about the late winter chill biting down to the bone proved true as the wind howled outside, slipping through the window cracks and piling layer after layer of icy air onto little Avani.

A day and a night slipped by.

No one checked on her. No one knew she hadn't eaten since the day before, when Hannah had punished her. Now she drifted in and out of a daze.

Mr. Jordan had declared she wouldn't leave this room until she admitted what she'd done!

"Mama..."

Little Avani's lips had turned blue from the cold. She shivered, murmuring with her eyes squeezed shut, "Mama... Avani did nothing wrong. Avani won't say sorry..."

She knew her mother had died a year ago.

After Mama passed, her father found someone new. And fast—that someone was already carrying a baby...

The woman had two faces. Sweet as pie when people were watching, a demon the second they were alone.

"Mama..." Little Avani clung to her stuffed bear's ear, then slipped into darkness.

She didn't know how long had passed when the door burst open.

Michael stood there, face twisted with rage. He grabbed the unconscious girl, dragged her down the stairs, and threw her into the snow-covered yard!

The freezing shock yanked Avani back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open with raw effort...

"Daddy... I'm hungry..." she breathed, purely on instinct.

Michael sneered. "You killed Hannah's baby, and you've got the nerve to say you're hungry? How did I end up with such a wicked daughter!"

Avani's eyes went blank. She couldn't speak.

Her blank expression only stoked his fury. Who was she putting on a show for?

So young, and already so vile.

"A father's got to discipline his child! If you can hurt your own sibling now, what won't you do when you're grown? If I don't teach you a lesson today, I might as well stop calling myself your father!"

He snatched a broom from the corner, snapped off the head, and raised the handle.

The pole—thick as two fingers—came down with a sickening smack on little Avani's body. She screamed.

"Do you admit you did wrong?!" Michael's eyes blazed.

"It wasn't me, really... it wasn't me!" Avani bit her lip, defiance etched deep into her face.

Michael's fury swelled. "If it wasn't you, did she just throw herself down the stairs? She was six months pregnant—what possible good would a fall do her?"

He thought of Hannah in the hospital, hemorrhaging, doctors issuing two critical notices. And still she'd pleaded with them not to blame Avani—'she's a child without a mother, she's just scared of losing love when the new baby comes.'

The more he thought, the hotter his anger burned. The stick rose and fell with every word. "You're still lying! Still lying!"

Each word landed with another brutal strike.

He beat her so viciously he didn't even notice his phone slip from his pocket until Avani lay motionless in the snow. Only then did he stop.

"You'll kneel right here until Hannah is out of the hospital!"

He yanked off his tie, tossed the stick aside, and stormed off.

He'd been under mountains of pressure. A massive issue at the company had him begging for help for half a month with nothing to show for it.

Now Hannah had fallen, lost their six-month-old baby—the Jordans' hoped-for heir. Everything was crashing down at once.

No wonder his rage exploded—he took it all out on little Avani.

Avani's teddy bear had been destroyed in the beating. She tried to push herself up, but collapsed back into the snow with a thud...

She thought maybe she'd just die out here.

If she died, maybe she'd see her mama again?

At that moment, a hazy voice echoed in Avani's ear:

[Little Avani, call your uncle!]

[Your uncle's name is Koen Ward, and the number is (202) 418-7359...]

"Call..." Avani forced her eyes open to glimpse a black cell phone lying in the snow. Survival instinct kicked in. She crawled toward it with everything she had left.

"202..."

Her hands trembled, stiff and clumsy. It felt like an eternity just to press those numbers...

**

Meanwhile.

Washington D.C., a historic mansion.

Mr. Ward's voice carried hard authority:

"Another year's gone by. Koen, did you finally make chief physician this year?"

The Ward brothers kept their faces controlled, though Koen rubbed the back of his neck, awkward.

Abruptly, Mr. Ward changed gears, voice sharp as a blade:

"And your sister? It's been four years, and you still haven't found her?"

The brothers' expressions shifted in an instant. Each of them pressed their lips into a tight line. The earlier indifference shattered, replaced by a heavy sadness.

Their sister, Fiona Ward, had been diagnosed with acute promyelocytic leukemia as a child. Blood transfusions, infection control, bone marrow transplants...

The Ward family had fought for her, cared for her, for twenty years. But the disease only worsened, gnawing away at her memory until pieces of her mind simply... vanished.

Four years ago, she disappeared without a trace.

Koen Ward—top physician at the Cancer Hospital—had been in charge of her treatment.

The day she vanished, he'd been pulled away for one critical patient. Just that once... and she was gone.

For four years, guilt and regret had eaten him alive. His once unstoppable medical genius had stalled, rusted.

The Ward family's only daughter. Her disappearance left the matriarch bedridden, and Mr. Ward seething with a bitterness that never cooled.

Every member of the family carried that stone in their chest.

Koen, the eldest, head of the Ward Business Empire, worked himself past exhaustion, his health crumbling, kept upright by pills.

The second son, Griffin Ward, an ace pilot with S-Airways, failed his psych evaluation. He'd been on leave for four years now, trying to piece himself back together.

The third son...

The study fell into a suffocating silence.

Then Cristian's phone rang, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

In the Ward family's morning meeting, order was everything. Discipline ruled. No one dared even have their phone on. Cristian Ward reached instinctively to silence his ringing phone—but was cut off.

"Answer it," Mr. Ward commanded, his tone leaving zero room for argument.

Koen hesitated. "Dad, it's an unknown number..."

Mr. Ward set his cup down with a sharp clink. "Answer it. And put it on speaker."

Koen's brothers shot him sympathetic glances. Trapped, he picked up and hit speaker.

A tiny, timid voice crackled through the line. "Hello... Uncle Koen?"

"I'm Avani... my mommy is Fiona Ward... Are you my Uncle Koen?"

The voice was weak and robotic—stripped of all emotion—like some little wind-up toy talking through a tin can.

Every single Ward froze. Color drained from their faces in one collective wave of shock.

In the stunned silence, the cap slipped from Mr. Ward's pen and clattered to the floor.

Avani's fragile voice went on. "Uncle... it's cold, and I'm so hungry..."

"I didn't push the lady, but they don't believe me..."

"Daddy made me kneel outside... but I'm freezing... Uncle, can you come get me?"

Her voice grew fainter, then nothing. Just the shriek of wind screaming through the phone, like she was trapped in a blizzard.

Koen snapped out of his fog and yanked the phone to his mouth. "Hello? Avani? Where are you?! Tell Uncle where you are!"

Silence.

Mr. Ward, suddenly looking ten years older, barked desperately, "Trace that number! Find her—now!"

**

Little Avani never finished the call. She passed out first, the phone slipping from her fingers into the snow.

Time dragged in slow, unbearable beats before Michael Jordan finally stepped outside and retrieved it. When he saw Avani lying there motionless, he nudged her with his foot.

"If she's dead, so be it," he muttered, bitter as poison.

Years ago, Michael had found a woman in rags and taken her in out of some pathetic charity. Then he'd noticed her beauty. She'd seemed clueless—almost adorably naive—and it had held him spellbound for a while. He'd spoiled her like a lovesick fool, promised he'd never force her, catered to her every whim...

In hindsight, Michael found the whole thing revolting.

A beggar woman, he thought with contempt. She could've been with anyone before he found her—how else to explain Avani looking absolutely nothing like him?

He'd nursed his suspicions but never pushed for a DNA test.

If the test proved his nightmares true, he'd be the laughingstock of Oxford—the most humiliated man alive!

He took the phone and retreated to the snug safety of his study, firing off phone calls nonstop:

"Hello... Mr. Smith, it's Michael! Do you know anyone from the Ward family in Washington?"

"Hello, Mr. White, happy New Year! Quick question—do you know the Wards up in Washington? My company's hit a snag..."

**

Outside, the blizzard wailed on, piling wet snow over little Avani as evening swallowed the light.

She lay there, barely hanging on, trying desperately to open her eyes and failing.

Since her mother died, Avani hadn't cried—not once, not even when they beat her—but now, tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

She'd called Uncle Koen, and nobody had answered. Did they not want her either?

In this whole world, no one liked her.

If her mama could see her now from somewhere beyond, would she reject her too?

Her frostbitten lips trembled as she swore silently: she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

Then—engines roared into the estate.

Seven or eight black cars pulled up outside the Ward home. Out of the lead car stepped a man in a black wool coat, and he kicked the gate open without a second's hesitation.

Snow had nearly hidden Avani's tiny body.

Koen Ward scanned the area frantically—she had said she was kneeling by the gate.

His eyes snagged on something. A small mound of snow near the entrance. His expression shifted, and he rushed over, digging with his bare hands until they burned raw from the cold—until finally, he uncovered a tiny, frozen form underneath!

"Avani?!"

Koen lifted the fragile, lifeless weight into his arms. One look at that little face, and he knew. She was theirs. She was a Ward. Those features—they mirrored their lost sister with heartbreaking precision. Their precious niece. Avani.

Avani felt warmth. She was cradled against someone's chest, and he even shrugged off his coat to wrap her up.

She was so numb, but the warmth began to seep back into her bones, and her small body shivered violently, trying to make heat, trying to survive.

Through half-open eyes, she looked up. A face so like her mother's—and yet not quite.

Her lips moved with painstaking effort as she whispered, "Are you... Uncle Koen?"

"Uncle... I didn't push her..."

Barely conscious, she murmured the words mechanically—flat, empty, robbed of any feeling at all.

Koen's eyes blurred with tears.

In his arms was a child in nothing but a thin nightgown. Her little face was a frozen shade of purple, her lips cracked and dark. She was so fragile, so still, like a sculpture of ice, and Koen feared one wrong move would shatter her.

"Avani... Uncle's here. I'm taking you home," he choked out, his voice breaking. He couldn't let himself think about how she'd survived alone this long. Or what would've happened if they'd arrived even a minute later.

With Avani bundled safely against him, Koen hurried through the snow toward the waiting car.

"Hold on, Avani. Stay with me... don't you dare fall asleep..."

"Avani, say something, sweetheart. Anything."

"Avani..."

But she had already slipped away into the dark.

Mr. Ward rushed over, his voice raw with fear. "How is she?!" he demanded, frantic.

Koen, voice thick with desperation, answered, "Now! To the hospital—we need the hospital!"

The entire Ward family, hearts in their throats, piled into the cars and raced to get Avani the help she needed.

Meanwhile, Michael, alerted by the noise and commotion, came downstairs with a mix of cautious hope and barely concealed excitement.

See, the security had blocked the Wards at first, until Cristian announced their name at the gate, which sent a guard scrambling to inform Michael.

Desperate to get into the Wards' good graces, Michael had thought he was dreaming when he heard they were actually here!

He had no clue why they'd shown up out of the blue, but he sure as hell saw an opportunity.

The Jordan family's entire future was hanging by a thread!

Then something hit him. He spun toward a housemaid. "That girl—she's still in the yard? Get her out of here! Clear her out!"

That cursed child. She'd cost him his wife, and now his company was circling the drain.

He finally had the Jordans in front of him. No way was he letting her wreck this.

With fresh resolve, he swore to squeeze every ounce of advantage from this sudden chance—completely oblivious to the family bond that had just, in that very moment, been fiercely reclaimed.

Everything had happened so fast that the Jordan family could barely wrap their heads around it. In his mad dash to get downstairs, Michael completely missed Koen Ward taking Avani away. Instead, he caught a glimpse of Cristian about to step into a car, and that was all it took for him to bolt over.

“Oh, Mr. Ward!” Michael beamed, his smile so wide it was almost manic. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you here! Your presence truly honors our humble home!”

As Michael spoke, the rest of the Jordan clan—his parents, Mr. Jordan, Mrs. Jordan, and even the household staff—poured out to welcome Cristian, each wearing a smile that screamed desperation. In front of this towering, intimidating man, they practically groveled.

Cristian Ward was the current head of the legendary Ward family, a titan in high society and business alike. A mere nod from him could yank the Jordans out of the deep shit they were in. They were desperate to kiss ass—and figure they could milk this chance for all it was worth.

The Jordans were staring down disaster, but if Cristian Ward stepped in, their luck could flip overnight. The dream of rubbing shoulders with the upper crust felt so damn close they could taste it.

Cristian, though, met Michael’s fawning greeting with a steely gaze and a face carved from stone. “The Jordans,” he said, his voice clipped. “Very well.”

And with that, he turned away, leaving Michael and his whole family standing there like fools, wracking their brains over what the hell those cryptic words meant.

Mrs. Jordan whispered, “Did Mr. Ward compliment us? Does this mean he’s actually gonna help?”

Mr. Jordan, ever the skeptic, frowned deep. “That look on his face didn’t exactly scream ‘compliment’ to me…”

Michael quickly ordered someone to figure out what had gone down. When they learned Cristian and his crew had rolled in en masse to take Avani, his expression crumpled. They found out some man in black had wrapped Avani up warm, calling himself her uncle.

It hit Michael like a lightning bolt. Suddenly, every piece clicked into place.

The Ward family was famous for having eight sons and only one treasured daughter, who'd been kept out of sight because of her fragile health… Could it be that the woman he’d taken in four years ago was actually Cristian’s sister—their precious girl?

Regret flooded the Jordans like a tidal wave. They’d been sitting on a goddamn gold mine this whole time and had no clue. Now, they were in full-blown panic mode, staring down the weight of their colossal screw-up.

Mrs. Jordan’s voice trembled. “She was a Ward… We have to get Avani back, and fast…”

If only they’d known—hell, they never would’ve treated her like dirt.

Michael, now drowning in guilt, replayed every time he’d punished Avani. A cold dread settled in his gut. Frustrated, he snapped, “How the hell are we supposed to bring her back now? It’s not up to us anymore!”

Mr. Jordan’s furrowed brow showed his mind was churning. “We’re still Avani’s family—her real grandparents and her father. The Wards might be pissed, but they can’t change that. And don’t forget, that thing with Hannah really did happen…”

They’d only been disciplining her to keep her from turning into some spoilt brat! Michael had just lost his temper in the heat of the moment…

The Jordans convinced themselves they could explain everything, and once the air was cleared, they’d be swimming in money and status.

***

After scooping up Avani, the Wards headed straight for the nearest hospital instead of home.

The swanky clinic, normally as quiet as a library, was chaos on the top floor. Nobody dared speak above a whisper. Tension hung like a heavy fog, the beeping machines and hurried footsteps of doctors and nurses the only sounds.

Mr. Ward paced the corridor, his cane tapping an anxious rhythm. “Why haven’t we heard anything yet?” he demanded.

Cristian glanced at his watch, fighting to keep his cool. “Dad, please, sit down.”

Avani had been rushed to the hospital and wheeled directly into the emergency room. Koen Ward had gone in with her, but there was still zero news.

Inside that room, Koen’s hands shook as he looked at Avani’s bruised, battered little body.

Severe frostbite, broken bones—a busted arm, leg, even ribs… The poor kid was a mess. And the frostbite was so bad in some spots that amputation was a real possibility.

How the hell could a child barely over three years old suffer through all this?

Koen’s eyes burned red as he leaned close to her unconscious form.

“Avani, it’s Uncle Koen. Can you hear me?” His voice was low, gentle as a lullaby.

“If you can, sweetheart, please hold on. Be strong…”

Avani’s eyes were shut tight, but for the first time, her body felt light and warm.

The world around her was dead silent, except for a voice whispering right by her ear:

“Avani… little Avani…”

“Can you see me? Can you hear me?”

Who was that?

Avani tried desperately to open her eyes, but they just wouldn’t budge.

She was dying to answer, to let them know she could hear every word, but no sound came out.

***

It took three hours of surgery before Avani was finally out of danger. The doctors called it nothing short of a miracle.

She was wheeled into a room, tubes and wires snaking everywhere.

Koen, his face grim, handed the medical report to Cristian. As the Ward family scanned it, they struggled to bottle up their rage.

Mr. Ward ground his teeth, fury blazing. “Un-fucking-believable. She’s not even four, and they treat her like this!”

Cristian had already done a deep dive on the Jordans. Ice-cold, he reported, “Their products were flagged for smuggling, landing them in hot water. They’ve been begging us for help ever since.”

Mr. Ward let out a bitter laugh. “They should consider themselves lucky if I don’t destroy them, and they think we’re gonna help?”

His rage was a living thing—he was itching to grind the Jordan family into dust.

“Don’t worry,” Cristian assured him. “Their fall will be quick and brutal.”

Mr. Ward fell silent, his lips a tight line, before he finally asked, “And what about Fiona…?”

Cristian didn’t answer.

The Manchester were over a thousand miles from Washington—a world away.

Four years ago, Fiona Ward, deathly ill and battling amnesia, had somehow ended up in the Manchester, where Michael Jordan took her in.

When she gave birth to Avani, Fiona was already critical, barely surviving the delivery.

Maybe knowing her child was there gave her two more years before the sickness came back to claim her. Then she was gone, leaving Avani all alone.

Their beloved sister—the one they’d treasured—had died in a foreign land, unknown, unrecognized, a ghost to the world…

Cristian’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, his rage only making his icy demeanor even colder.

Mr. Ward wisely stopped asking questions. He wasn’t sure he could handle the answers.

Koen asked, “Why the hell did they hurt Avani like that?”

Cristian’s tone was pure frost. “Michael’s wife, Hannah, miscarried after falling down the stairs. Michael was convinced Avani pushed her.”

The Ward family’s faces darkened in unison.

Right then, word came that the Jordans had tracked them down and arrived.

Cristian’s assistant stepped in quickly, voice low. “Mr. Ward, the Jordans are here. They’re claiming they want to see their granddaughter…”

Cristian’s laugh was dark and merciless. “Turn off the heat on this floor and open the windows. Let them wait.”

***

Michael, Grandpa, and Mrs. Jordan ended up waiting outside the VIP floor for what felt like forever, a wall of security guards blocking their way.

Told to wait by Cristian’s assistant, they had no choice but to shut up and deal.

Mrs. Jordan grumped, “Why won’t they let us in? We’re her grandparents! Since when does family get turned away at the damn door…?”

Michael, fuming and out of patience, gritted his teeth. “Just. Wait.”

He knew he’d gone way too far with punishing Avani, and the Wards had every right to be pissed.

But it didn’t take long for the Jordans to notice something was off—the hallway was getting colder by the second.

They were parked right by the open windows, and the icy wind sliced through them, chilling them to the bone.

Mrs. Jordan, used to being pampered, was the first to start shivering like a leaf. “What kind of bullshit weather is this? I can’t stand it!” she whined.

Mr. Jordan scowled. “Michael, go find someone and ask what the hell is going on!”

Sure, the Wards’ anger was understandable—a little waiting was no big deal. But they’d been out here for over half an hour now.

In this kind of cold, nobody could last.