A seven year old girl with brown hair, burst out of the hospital ward, her legs carrying her before her mind could catch up. Her sobs tore through the sterile silence of the corridor, raw and uncontrolled. She left her father and aunt behind with the doctor, unable to stand another second in that suffocating room.
Her world had collapsed. One sentence had destroyed everything: Your mother didn't make it.
Glioblastoma. A brain tumor. The word felt like a curse etched into her chest. Mira had held on to hope with both hands, praying her mother's surgery would be the miracle they all longed for. She had even rushed from school that day, desperate to hear her mother laugh again, to see her eyes sparkle in reassurance. Instead, she was met with the cruel finality of death.
Her feet thundered down the hallway. She didn't care who stared, didn't care if her sobs made people turn. The walls seemed to close in on her, the sharp scent of antiseptic making her stomach churn.
Behind her, voices called her name.
"Mira! Mira!" her aunt Joy's voice cracked with panic. She turned toward her older brother, Nick, who emerged pale-faced from the ward, speaking hurriedly with the doctor.
"Nick—I don't know where she's heading!" she cried, twisting her hands helplessly.
"Which way did she go?" Nick's voice was sharp with fear.
Joy pointed with trembling fingers. "Down the hallway to the right."
Nick didn't wait another second. He bolted down the hallway, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum.
Left behind, Joy turned to the doctor, tears threatening to spill. "Is there… is there any way we can track her? CCTV, maybe?"
The doctor gave a brisk nod. "Follow me," he said, already striding toward the security office.
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Mira hardly noticed where she was going. Her legs carried her blindly, weaving through patients, nurses, and visitors. She bumped shoulders, stumbled around trolleys, ignored startled protests. Nothing mattered—not the people, not the stares, not even the sharp sting in her chest each time she gasped for breath.
She only wanted her mom. Just her mom.
The thought rose like a tide: If I can't have her in this world, maybe I can find her somewhere else.
Her hands trembled as she darted into an empty side corridor, pushing through a door without thinking. She pressed herself into the shadowed corner, muffling her sobs with the back of her hand. The echo of her father's hurried footsteps passed by moments later, fading into the distance.
For a brief second, Mira felt a flicker of relief. She was hidden. Alone. Safe with her grief.
But then she felt it—an unblinking gaze.
Her head snapped up, and her tear-blurred eyes met those of someone lying in the hospital bed. An IV tube trailed from his arm, his sheets rumpled. He looked older, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with dark hair falling carelessly over sharp eyes that studied her like she was an unwelcome guest.
Mira froze, her body stiff with embarrassment. She hadn't realized she had barged into someone's ward.
The boy's frown deepened. His bodyguards, stationed discreetly near the wall, shifted uncomfortably. He had given strict orders to be left alone. Yet here was a crying child in his room.
He opened his mouth, ready to dismiss her, but stopped when he caught sight of her face—red-rimmed eyes, blotchy cheeks, trembling lips. This wasn't just a lost child. She was broken.
Flustered, Mira scrambled to her feet. "I—I'm sorry!" she stammered, her voice shaking. She tried to back away but stumbled into a tall medicine cabinet. With a sharp clang, she tripped forward and fell face-first onto the floor.
The boy pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to groan aloud. Unbelievable.
Mira's cheeks burned with humiliation. Stupid cabinet. Why now? She pushed herself up, but a sharp sting shot through her elbow. "Ow…" she whimpered, clutching it.
"Come here," the boy's voice cut through the silence.
She blinked at him, startled. Had he really said that? Why would he want her near?
"I said come here," he repeated, his tone sharper this time, though not unkind.
Cautiously, Mira shuffled toward him. As she drew closer, she noticed how striking he was—clean features, dark lashes, the kind of face people might stare at twice. But she shoved the thought away. What did looks matter when her mother was gone?
Her grief surged again, and fresh sobs spilled out, catching even her by surprise.
The boy stiffened. He wasn't used to this—tears, raw emotion, vulnerability. In his world, there had been little room for affection. But something inside him stirred. Awkwardly, he reached out, tugged her closer, and guided her to sit beside him on the bed.
He didn't ask questions. He simply waited, letting her cry until her breathing steadied.
When her sobs softened, he pressed a small button to raise the bed into a sitting position. His eyes lingered on her. "Are you done crying? Do you want to share what's bothering you?"
Mira blinked at him, bewildered. Moments ago, he had looked ready to snap at her. Now, he sounded… almost gentle.
She hesitated, biting her lip. Could she trust him?
But something in his gaze urged her on. Slowly, she began to speak—haltingly at first, then with a torrent of words—as she told him about her mother's illness, the endless hospital visits, and the devastating news she had just heard.
"What's your name?" he asked when she fell quiet, his hands folded in his lap, his tone steady.
"Mirabelle," she whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the room.
He hummed low in his throat. "Mirabelle…" He let the name linger. "I'm Leonard. You can call me Leo."
Mira's cheeks warmed despite her grief.
The guy named Leonard leaned back slightly, studying her. "I understand, you know. Losing the person who truly cherished you—it feels unbearable. But think about it this way: wouldn't it be unfair to your mother if you gave up on yourself? She left you in your father's and aunt's care because she believed you had a future worth protecting. She wanted you to live, Mirabelle. To make her proud."
Leonard did say this not only to comfort her, but he, himself had experience the feeling of not being loved...
Being the heir of a top-notch family, where the quest for power had gone haywire. Family against Family, Brothers against Brothers ; In which he was gonna solve later... But for now, he had a lot of things to do, including attending to this young child
His words sank deep, like drops into parched soil. Mira stared at him, wide-eyed, her heart aching with both pain and something unfamiliar—hope.
Before she knew it, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. The hug was impulsive, desperate, but real.
Leonard froze, shocked at the sudden contact. But after a heartbeat, he let her cling to him, awkwardly resting a hand on her shoulder.
For the first time in days, Mira felt a flicker of comfort.
Then—
The door banged open.
"WHAT THE HECK?!" a voice screeched, shattering the fragile moment.