Chapter 3 - The Arrival of Lily
At 3:00 p.m. that afternoon, a rusty, dented yellow cab pulled up to the black iron gates of the Hale estate.
Clara stood under the stone portico, her hands clasped in front of her. Beside her stood Victor, who had stayed home from the office under the pretext of "monitoring the transition," though Clara knew he was simply waiting for the experiment to fail. Behind them, peering out from behind the massive front doors, were the quadruplets, grouped together like a small, hostile army defense force.
The cab door opened, and a little girl stepped out.
Lily Bennett was seven years old, with her mother’s stubborn chin and a pair of oversized, bright pink glasses that constantly slipped down her nose. She was dragging a suitcase covered in holographic unicorn stickers that was nearly as big as she was.
"Mommy!" Lily dropped the suitcase handle and ran up the stone steps, throwing her arms around Clara’s waist.
Clara buried her face in her daughter’s dark hair, closing her eyes as a wave of pure relief washed over her. For a moment, the mansion, the billionaire, and the looming court date disappeared. There was only the smell of baby shampoo and the warm reality of her child.
"Hi, bunny," Clara whispered, pulling back to straighten Lily’s glasses. "Are you ready for a big adventure?"
"Is this a castle?" Lily asked, her eyes wide behind her lenses as she looked up at the towering facade. "Are you the queen now?"
"Not a queen," a deep voice cut in.
Lily blinked and looked up at Victor. He stood tall, imposing, his hands tucked into his trousers pockets. He looked down at the little girl with an expression that was entirely unreadable.
Lily didn't flinch. She stepped away from her mother, walked right up to the billionaire, and offered her small hand. "Hello. I’m Lily. Thank you for letting my mommy work here. She is a very good cooker, and she doesn't cry when things get messy."
Victor looked down at the tiny hand extended toward him. For a split second, the fearsome Victor Hale looked utterly out of his depth. He reached down and shook her hand with a single, formal nod. "Welcome to the estate, Miss Bennett."
From the doorway, a loud snort broke the formality.
Mason, Cole, and Ryder walked out onto the porch. They looked at Lily like she was an alien species.
"She’s small," Cole observed, crossing his arms. "And she wears pink. Pink is a stupid color."
Lily turned around, her pink glasses catching the afternoon sun. She looked at Cole, then at the dirt on his knees, then at the identical faces of his brothers.
"You look like clones," Lily said thoughtfully. "Like in the star movies. But the clones in the movies have better manners."
Ryder gasped. Mason’s eyes widened.
"What did you say?" Mason stepped forward, trying to look intimidating.
"I said you have bad manners," Lily repeated clearly, totally unfazed. "Your shoelaces are untied, and you have chocolate on your chin. My mommy says people who don't wash their faces are just hiding their brains."
Clara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
Victor’s mouth twitched. He turned his face away, looking out over the lawn, but Clara caught the sudden, sharp intake of his breath.
Before Mason could launch a counter-attack, Theo stepped out from behind his brothers. He wasn't looking at Lily’s clothes or her glasses. He was looking at the unicorn suitcase.
"Does it shine in the dark?" Theo asked quietly.
Lily smiled, a bright, gap-toothed expression. "Yes. And if you scratch the big unicorn, it smells like strawberries. Want to try?"
Theo walked past his brothers, knelt down by the suitcase, and scratched the sticker. He sniffed it, his face lighting up with pure wonder. "It does. It smells like summer."
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"Come on," Lily said, grabbing the handle. "I’ll show you my coloring books. I have one with dragons."
Just like that, the defense perimeter was breached. Theo helped Lily drag the heavy suitcase through the front doors, leaving Mason, Cole, and Ryder standing on the porch, looking thoroughly defeated by a seven-year-old girl in pink glasses.
