Chapter 1 - The Mirror's Echo
The marble lavatory of Le Cirque Manhattan was quiet, save for the faint hum of central climate control and the steady stream of warm water from a brushed-gold faucet. Adrian Blackwood adjusted the heavy platinum links at his left cuff, his gray-blue eyes fixed on his reflection. At thirty-eight, he commanded an empire built on old money, political levers, and ruthless syndicate power. His light-gray three-piece suit fit his broad shoulders with military precision, framing the faint, elegant black-ink tattoos creeping just past his collar onto the side of his neck.
He took a slow breath, smoothed his dark hair back with his right hand, and touched the nape of his neck—a unconscious reflex he had possessed since he was a boy whenever pressure mounted. Tonight was supposed to be the coronation. Brielle Cartwright was waiting in the private dining salon upstairs, wearing fifty carats of Blackwood diamonds and expecting an engagement ring before the dessert wine was poured.
The heavy mahogany door clicked open.
Four identical little boys walked into the lavatory, marching in a tidy line. They were small, dressed in matching cream formal jackets with crisp navy lapels, white collared shirts, navy bow ties, and dark trousers.
Adrian did not look down immediately. He was accustomed to children of Manhattan's elite wandering the establishment. But as the lead boy stepped up to the second sink, he turned on the water, wet his palms, and pushed his damp dark-brown hair back from his forehead.
Then, the boy touched the back of his neck.
Adrian froze.
In the reflection of the massive gold-leaf mirror, the three boys standing behind the first repeated the exact same motion in perfect synchronization. Right hand through dark brown hair. Thumb resting against the base of the skull.
The silence in the room stretched until it felt like thin glass ready to shatter.
Adrian turned slowly, his controlled, intimidating posture wavering for the first time in over a decade. He looked down into four sets of eyes that were unmistakably, impossibly his own. Light gray-blue, framed by long lashes, with a small, distinctive dimple on the left cheek of the boy standing at the front.
May you like
The leader of the group, Milo, stared up at the towering billionaire. He did not flinch or look away. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze trailing from Adrian’s gray-blue eyes down to the silver tie and back up.
"Why do you look like us?" Milo asked, his voice bright, innocent, and clear as a bell.
