Chapter 2 - The Second Encounter
The following evening, the sun dipped below the skyline, casting long, bruised shadows across the sidewalks surrounding the estate. Andrew had deliberately dismissed his car, opting to wait near the wrought-iron perimeter gates. When he spotted the familiar flash of a red coat down the block, he intercepted them before they could pass the property line.
Denise stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in sheer panic as she recognized the imposing silhouette of her employer. She instinctively pulled Ruby closer, her knuckles whitening.
“Mr. Kessler,” Denise stammered, bowing her head slightly. “I’m... I’m terribly sorry if we’re late or if something is wrong with my work. I can leave immediately——”
“Nothing is wrong with your work, Denise,” Andrew interrupted, his voice deep and resonant.
He didn't look at the mother. Instead, he crouched down on the cold pavement, bringing himself directly to eye level with three-year-old Ruby.
As he shifted closer, a sharp pang of guilt struck him. Ruby’s shoes—cheap, thin-soled canvas sneakers—were utterly destroyed by the autumn damp. One sole had completely split near the heel, revealing a dirty grey sock underneath. They had walked miles in this weather, day after day, while he owned fleets of vehicles that sat empty in heated subterranean garages.
“Why won’t you take the car, Ruby?” Andrew asked, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, stripped of the commanding authority he used in corporate boardrooms.
Ruby tilted her head, studying his sharp facial features, the silver threading at his temples, and the expensive wool of his overcoat with intense, childlike scrutiny.
“Because Mommy says we don’t take things we didn’t earn,” Ruby replied without missing a beat.
A slow, wry smile touched the corner of Andrew’s mouth. It was a philosophy he had built his entire multi-billion-dollar fortune upon, yet hearing it recited by a toddler whose toes were freezing inside split shoes felt like a quiet indictment of his own excess.
Andrew reached out, resting his heavy, calloused hand gently on his knee.
“If you could earn the ride by doing me a favor, would you?” he asked.
Ruby considered him carefully, her blue eyes narrowing in deep calculation.
“What favor?” she whispered.
“Tell me what you would wish for if I gave you three wishes,” Andrew proposed, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur.
Ruby’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. A gasp escaped her small mouth.
“Like a fairy?”
“Less wings,” Andrew replied dryly.
That earned the smallest, most hesitant smile he had ever seen crack across her solemn face.
Ten minutes later, the dynamic of the grand estate had entirely shifted. Denise stood anxiously near the doorway of Andrew’s sprawling private breakfast room—a sunlit chamber usually reserved for high-stakes meetings with foreign investors and political leaders.
Instead, little Ruby sat comfortably in a massive, high-backed leather dining chair that swallowed her small frame. Spread out neatly on the mahogany table in front of her were three blank, pristine ivory cards, trimmed with silver foil.
“One wish per card,” Andrew instructed, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite her, his massive frame dwarfing the table.
Andrew leaned back, internally bracing himself for the predictable demands of a three-year-old. He expected a bicycle. A massive, porcelain-faced doll that cost more than a month of groceries. Maybe enough chocolate to instantly alarm a pediatric dentist. He was a billionaire; buying her a mountain of toys was an effortless transaction.
Instead, Ruby did something entirely unexpected. She turned her head, looking up toward the doorway where her mother stood frozen in apprehension.
“Can wishes be for somebody else?” Ruby asked.
The silence that followed was absolute. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, its rhythmic thud echoing through the vast room.
Denise went completely, terrifyingly still. Her hands gripped the fabric of her maid's apron so tightly her knuckles turned translucent.
May you like
Andrew leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze sharpening with sudden, intense focus. The playful amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by a profound, riveting curiosity.
“Yes,” Andrew answered softly, his voice dropping to a low register. “Wishes can be for somebody else.”
