Chapter 2 - The Song of the Ghost
The air inside the penthouse foyer turned to stone.
Julian Sterling stood paralyzed, his eyes locked on the maid crouching on the polished Italian marble floor. Her name was Clara. She was twenty-five, hired just three days ago through an elite domestic agency to handle light housekeeping. She wore a modest navy uniform, her dark auburn hair pulled back into a silver clip, and she was shaking—not with fear of Victoria’s rage, but under the terrifying weight of his son’s tiny arms wrapped around her waist.
"What did you say, Leo?" Julian asked, his voice barely a rasp. He dropped to one knee, ignoring Victoria completely. "Say that again."
Leo, who hadn't spoken more than ten words in the past two years, buried his face deeper into Clara’s shoulder. His twin brother, Noah, pulled Clara’s arm around his own small body, nodding his head against her chest in desperate agreement.
"Leo, answer your father!" Victoria barked, her high heels clicking violently as she took two steps forward. Her voice was shrill, edged with an uncharacteristic panic. "He’s confused, Julian! The nanny reads them random books; they pick up silly rhymes from cartoons—"
"Shut up, Victoria," Julian said quietly. He didn't raise his voice, but the absolute, lethal authority in his tone stopped his wife dead in her tracks.
Julian looked directly into Clara’s eyes. Her hazel eyes—eyes that suddenly looked far too familiar—were brimming with unshed tears.
"The song," Julian whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs like a sledgehammer. "Hum it."
"Mr. Sterling, please," Clara stammered, her hands trembling as she smoothed Leo’s soft brown hair. "I don't want any trouble. I was just singing to calm them down during their nap—"
"Hum the melody," Julian commanded, stepping closer. "Now."
Clara swallowed hard. She closed her eyes, took a ragged breath, and let out a low, breathy hum.
It was a slow, melancholic lullaby—a minor-key waltz that rose softly before descending into a gentle, heartbreaking cadence.
Julian stopped breathing.
A memory tore through his mind, violent and crystal clear: a small, sunlit apartment in Soho five years ago. A grand piano sitting near an open window. A young woman with paint-stained fingers and auburn hair sitting at the keys, resting her chin on his chest, humming that exact, unreleased melody against his collarbone while she rested her hand over her round, pregnant belly.
Clara Vance.
His first love. The brilliant, fiercely independent musician who had refused his family's money, who had loved him before he built his fortune, and who had died on an emergency operating table at St. Jude’s Hospital four years ago while delivering his twin sons.
Or so he had been told.
"Where did you learn that melody?" Julian demanded, reaching out to grip Clara’s shoulder.
"Julian, stop this!" Victoria screamed, grabbing his arm, her manicured nails digging into his suit jacket. "You are harassing the staff over a meaningless tune! I am your wife! I bore your children! I will not stand here in my own home and be humiliated because a maid hummed some street song!"
Julian slowly turned his head to look at Victoria. Her face was stark white, sweat glistening along her hairline despite the cool air conditioning. Her chest heaved, her blue eyes wide with a frantic, animalistic panic that went far beyond annoyance at a domestic conflict.
"You're terrified," Julian observed, his voice chillingly cold. "Why are you terrified of a song, Victoria?"
"I am not terrified!" she spat. "I am disgusted! I want her out of this house this instant!"
Julian ignored her, looking back down at Clara. "Who taught you that song?"
Clara looked up, her gaze steadying as she held Julian’s eyes. "My sister," she whispered, her voice steadying. "My older sister, Clara. She wrote it for her babies before she died four years ago."
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Julian felt the floor drop out from under him. "Your sister?"
"My name isn't Clara," the woman said, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "My name is Maya Vance. And I didn't take this job to clean your floors, Mr. Sterling. I came here to find out why my sister’s children were living with the woman who murdered her."
