For two hours the nursery was pure chaos. Bottles, baths, rocking, changing — nothing worked. Then little Sophie in the yellow lace dress stepped onto the rug.

Four-year-old Sophie stepped onto the plush sheepskin rug, her battered cloth doll dangling loosely from her right hand. The moment her small shoe touched the center fibers, the deafening screams of Theo, Miles, and Nora abruptly cut off. The sudden silence hit the grand room like a physical blow. Dr. Gable dropped his otoscope onto the hardwood floor with a sharp metallic clatter, his mouth agape. Beside him, the pediatric neurologist froze mid-gesture, his hands hovering over Theo’s crib.

Adrien Moretti stood unmoving, his pulse hammering against his ribs. For two hours, the grand nursery had echoed with unrelenting distress, yet now, only the rhythmic sound of tiny, gasping breaths filled the air. Sophie took two more deliberate steps forward. The three infants turned their tear-stained faces toward her, their clenched fists relaxing instantly as their eyes tracked her yellow lace dress.

"What... what did she just do?" Marco muttered, his hand reflexively dropping to the holster beneath his suit jacket. His tactical flashlight beam flickered across the room, catching the stillness of the scene.

"Sophie, come back here right now!" Elena whispered in a panicked rush, darting forward to grab her daughter’s shoulder.

"No, stop!" Adrien commanded, his voice deep and echoing. Elena halted instantly, her fingers hovering inches from Sophie's dress, trembling in fear of her employer's notorious temper. Adrien stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on the little girl. "Sophie... look at me. What did you do?"

Sophie didn't look back at the terrifying man who controlled the estate. Instead, she knelt beside the central rug, placing her patched doll gently upon the wool. She looked up at the ceiling, pointing her tiny finger toward the heavy crystal chandelier hanging overhead.

"The lady in the wall stopped singing when I sat down," Sophie said softly, her voice crisp and sweet in the quiet room. "She told me the babies don't like the ticking under the floor."

Dr. Gable cleared his throat nervously. "Adrien, children at this age have vivid imaginations—"

"Quiet," Adrien snapped, never breaking eye contact with the girl. He knelt on the floor beside her, uncaring that his thousand-dollar trousers were pressing against the rug. "What ticking, Sophie?"