Chapter 6 - The Second Card’s Demand
Ruby cleared her throat with an exaggerated, adult-like puff of air that instantly broke the lingering tension in the room, drawing a watery, watery chuckle from Denise.
The little girl picked up the second ivory card, holding it up like a priceless artifact between her thumb and forefinger. She looked across the table straight at Andrew, her gaze unnervingly direct.
“My second wish,” Ruby announced, her voice ringing clear and steady, “is for Mommy to have a coat that doesn't let the wind in.”
Andrew blinked. He had expected her to pivot to something for herself—a massive box of chocolates, a dollhouse, or a mountain of new toys. Instead, her second wish remained anchored entirely to the survival and comfort of her mother.
Denise pressed her hands flat against her cheeks, fresh tears springing to her eyes. She shook her head slowly, whispering, “Ruby... baby, you already have a coat...”
“Your coat has holes in the pocket, Mommy,” Ruby countered matter-of-factly, crossing her little arms over her chest. “When you hold my hand in the wind, your fingers are always shaking. The fairy man has to fix that.”
The fairy man.
Andrew felt a sharp, unfamiliar tug deep inside his chest—a sensation dangerously close to a cracked heart. For a man who measured his life in corporate acquisitions, hostile takeovers, and cold, unyielding balance sheets, being cast in the role of a magical protector by a three-year-old was a humbling, seismic shock.
“The fairy man,” Andrew repeated softly, a deep, resonant rumble of amusement escaping his throat. He cleared it quickly, though the warmth in his eyes remained entirely unchecked. “Consider it done.”
Without breaking eye contact with the child, Andrew reached into his inner breast pocket, withdrew a sleek, gold-trimmed fountain pen, and slid a small, heavy black business card across the polished mahogany table directly in front of Denise.
“Marcus,” Andrew called out, his voice carrying effortlessly toward the open doorway.
Within two seconds, Marcus—the impeccably dressed senior estate manager who had spent decades managing the logistical nightmares of the Kessler empire—stepped silently into the room, his expression instantly professional and alert.
“Yes, Mr. Kessler?” Marcus asked, glancing briefly at the weeping housekeeper and the solemn toddler.
“Contact the private winter collection boutique on Michigan Avenue,” Andrew instructed crisply, his billionaire persona snapping back into place, though softened by an underlying purpose. “Have them dispatch a private consultant to the estate tomorrow morning. I want a complete winter wardrobe selected for Denise and Miss Ruby. Every coat, pair of boots, and accessory they require, billed directly to my personal portfolio.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow in brief surprise—an expression of utter rarity for the seasoned manager—before quickly recovering. “Right away, sir. Shall I handle the scheduling for the modified payroll adjustments as well?”
“Immediately,” Andrew confirmed. “And Marcus? Ensure a vehicle from the executive fleet is assigned to transport Denise and Ruby whenever they require it. No exceptions.”
“Understood, Mr. Kessler,” Marcus replied, offering a crisp nod before bowing slightly and retreating from the room.
Ruby watched Marcus leave, then turned her wide blue eyes back to Andrew, her mouth slightly agape in genuine, unadulterated awe.
“You are a fairy,” Ruby whispered, her voice filled with absolute conviction.
May you like
Andrew let out a low, genuine laugh—a sound so rare within the hollow corridors of his mansion that it seemed to startle even the grandfather clock.
“Just a man with a very good pen, Ruby,” Andrew corrected gently. He leaned forward, pointing toward the final piece of cardstock resting on the table. “Now. We have one card left. What does the brilliant strategist want for her final wish?”
