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The orphanage chapel hung heavy with the scent of old incense and the mustiness of damp wool, the wood rotting and the children starving.
It was the kind of place where prayers go to die and hope curdles into resignation.
Finn stood near the back, his shadow long and still against the peeling plaster walls. A silent observer as Elizabeth began her act, grimace swallowed as small hands pulled on her costume Dior Skirt.
The children were lined up like shopworn dolls; some fidgeting, some preening, one sinking her teeth into another’s arm when the nuns turned away. A restless display, a collection of hopeful faces and anxious movements.
All desperate to be chosen.
All longing to escape the miserable existence fate had given them.
A rich foreign couple would be the perfect getaway, so they scurry around like rats handed cheese.
Finn doesn't blame them.
This will serve as a lesson for Elizabeth.
This was expected.
Nothing good comes from trash, things are thrown away for a reason.
Some are born rats and live as rats; greed is in their nature.
He had a girl ready to be chosen from an orphanage in Zurich, blonde and blue eyed that would blend seamlessly with the rest of the family.
But he was pleasantly surprised.
All except for one it seems.
It was rare for Finnian Aldaric Albrecht to be surprised.
Even before the director’s polite gesture, Finn’s gaze was drawn to her. A solitary figure in the last pew, a small island of stillness in the sea of yearning.
Her posture was unnaturally rigid, her small hands clasped so tightly her knuckles gleam white beneath the dim light filtering through the stained glass.
Her prayer, if it was one, was a silent tremor, lost in the echoing chorus of childish pleas.
Finn watched from the doorway as Yuna Kim—six years old, 22kg, no living relatives—prayed before a chipped Virgin Mary statue.
She didn't sing.
Didn’t wave.
Didn't recite the verse pinned to her coat.
She just folded her hands tighter while the others clamored , “Pick me! Pick me!”
Smaller than the photographs suggested. All delicate limbs and ghost-pale skin with dark hair braided neatly.
Still as a porcelain doll.
He remembered her.
The director had recommended her.
Young, reportedly obedient.
Her parents died in a car accident earlier this year—no extended family, no guardian, no one searching for her.
She had spent a brief stint in the States, the file noted. Her English was hesitant, limited to basic words, mostly memorized phrases.
Not the smartest nor the prettiest.
But no matter.
Finn was not looking for those qualities.
Aus gutem Holz sind gute Pfeile zu schnitzen.
Intelligence is unnecessary in a pet; it needed to only understand and obey, not argue
Finn takes a slow step forward, the creak of the chapel floorboards swallowed by the low hum of a hymn stuttering into silence. The director turns to glance at him—paused—and then nods to the nun, almost imperceptibly.
He was an important guest.
When the nun calls her name, “Yuna-yah!”
She lifted her head.
Her inky eyes caught the fractured colors of the stained glass for a fleeting moment. Then, a smile bloomed on her face, directed not at Finn, but at the nun. It’s an automatic curve of her lips, framed by dimples. Her cheeks rounded into little rice cakes, momentarily eclipsing her eyes.
Something tightened in Finn’s chest.
It’s not affection.
It’s the sharp, acquisitive thrill of a collector spotting a rare and undamaged piece.
Exquisite fragility.
Untouched potential.
Like unmarred ivory, waiting for the sculptor’s knife
“She’s adorable,” Elizabeth murmurs, hands already reaching.
The nun hesitates. “She’s quiet. Prone to nightmares. Not as robust as the others—”
"We have excellent doctors," Finn interrupts, his voice smooth as a hand-rubbed alpine leather. He didn't look at the nun. "Bring her closer."
She rose, cautious. Her steps were measured, as if the floor might crack beneath her. When she stopped before him, she smelled faintly of soap and something milky-sweet, like warm milk.
Finn didn’t bend, didn't coo, didn't offer a reassuring smile.
He extended a hand, palm up, a silent command.
“Give me your hand.”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, but obedience is already ingrained. Her small hand, not even taking up one-third of his hand, rested in his.
Her pulse fluttered against his fingers—a trapped sparrow’s heartbeat.
Good. Obedient.
He would need to cancel his meeting in Zurich and arrange another donation to the orphanage as an apology—a beneficial financial calculation with a bonus in tax deduction.
Elizabeth cooed, bending beside Daisy, her perfectly manicured fingers stroking the child’s smooth hair. “Such a sweet face.”
Finn said nothing, his attention solely on Daisy’s reaction. He reached into the inner pocket of his wool coat and retrieved a wrapped chocolate bar—Swiss made—the gold foil gleaming dully in the dim light.
The other orphans salivated, their eyes glued to the treat but Daisy didn't move, her gaze fixed on Finn’s face, glimmering eyes as wary as a stray watched an open door.
“Do you want it?” he asks, his voice devoid of inflection.
She nodded, once, barely a tremor.
“Then take it.”
Her fingers twitched—hovered—then retreated, curling back into the folds of her dress.
“N-no. Mr…um T-thank you…no,” she whispers, voice tainted with her mother tongue.
Finn’s mouth twitched.
Interesting.
Already, a flicker of something… disciplined or perhaps simply fear.
This one is not a rat.
"She’ll do," he concluded, inspecting her like an object before a glance at the chapel’s rotting beams ,"Gutes Holz ist selten.”
She was bought the same day, documents processed with the neat efficiency of a ledger entry.
Finn signed with a weighty Montblanc pen, the check exchanged with the same detached precision one might use to file a receipt.
She was bought and paid for.
And then, the donation.
An additional sum—generous enough to refurbish the chapel’s roof, modest enough to avoid suspicion. It would be lauded later in a quarterly newsletter.
Yuna Kim died that day.
Daisy Kim-Albrecht was born, named after Elizabeth's childhood doll.
And like any other asset, she now belonged to him.
That night, when he had returned home and Elizabeth, with a practiced smile, introduced the small, silent child to his bewildered sons, Finn retreated to his study. Amidst the scent of aged leather and expensive scotch, he added a meticulous line item to the family foundation's tax filings— humanitarian aid expenditure
It sat between a scholarship endowment and a land conservation grant.
A neat little deduction.
A neat little girl.
Daisy, like her namesake, seems to be able to adapt everywhere. She had learned fast. Quicker than expected, even by Finn’s strict standards.
Within weeks, she could curtsy without stumbling, murmur greetings in English and clumsy German, and recite table prayers in clear tones. Her debut at the church was lauded as a success by Elizabeth; a few of the wives had called her darling, even angelic, despite the awkwardness of her vowels.
and by Finn, with the way she has managed to charm Calignione's boy.
It would be a beneficial connection to befriend the Deputy Chief, especially when Gian’s lobbying for the position of Head Cantonal Police.
Her grammar was still patchy. Her fork still hovered the wrong way before she remembered. But she was, by all accounts, becoming presentable.
And in this house, that was enough.
Or it should have been.
But Daisy made the mistake of wanting more.
She reached for Finn’s hand when they walked to church. She looked up at him when she spoke, called him Papa in a soft, uncertain voice—as if trying the word on for size. And each time, something in him cooled.
It reminded him of rats.
The starving ones that wandered into grain stores—twitching and trembling with hunger.
At first, they only wanted to eat.
Then they began to nest. To breed. To think they belonged.
That’s what this was.
A child fed, clothed, and schooled—now mistaking survival for entitlement.
Love, even.
Love was the first lie children learned.
Better she unlearn it now.
She is a pet, not a rat.
The lesson come swiftly, as if god had agreed with his observation.
Daniel—ten, average, and unremarkable—his usefulness already in question, snatched a small paper bag of brightly colored candy from Daisy’s outstretched hand and tossed it into the fire without a word. The flame flares briefly, swallowing the sweetness whole.
Daisy, the first time since being brought into this strange, silent house, exploded.
She screamed and clawed at Daniel, her nails leaving angry red welts at the older boy. Words tumble from her in a torrent of Korean–With a repeated sharp, grief-stricken sound of “Unnie.”
She collapses onto the plush carpet, sobbing uncontrollably into the soft fur of a stuffed rabbit, tears and snot soaking the pale plush.
From the doorway, Finn watches, his expression unreadable.
Elizabeth gasps, her perfectly painted lips forming a silent “Oh.” She looks at Finn, her eyes wide with a helplessness he finds irritating. “Daisy! Stop this! it’s just candy!”
He lifts a hand, a small, almost dismissive gesture.
And Elizabeth’s voice dies in her throat.
Daniel sneers, shoving Daisy down harder, as if to prove something. Finn doesn’t reprimand him. He notes the boy’s posture; unrefined, and theatrical.
He thinks, not for the first time, that the third-born might’ve taken more after Elizabeth’s side. A petty streak. No discipline.
But it’s Daisy.
So Finn lets it happen.
He lets the tantrum burn.
Let her scream herself hoarse, her voice fraying into silence.
Only then does he move.
He scoops her up—her small frame light in his arms—and carries her, wordless and still sniffling, to the waiting car.
Her hand curls at his jacket as if she’s expecting comfort but Finn shrugged her off and placed her at the backseat of his BMW.
The drive was twenty minutes of suffocating quiet, the only sound Daisy’s hitched breaths fogging the window.
He parked the car on the deserted street in front of the building, the engine idling softly. The orange glow of the streetlights casted long shadows in the falling snow.
He opened her door and lifted her out as if she was just a task that needed to be done.
No coat.
No shoes.
Just her nightdress and the rabbit clutched in her red-tinged fingers.
In the cold snowy night.
He retreated into the warmth of the car.
The engine a low rumble. The windshield fogs.
Finn watched.
She had begged and called out for him, her voice reedy and cracked as her small hand hit the car door, “Daddy! In! please! cold, Daisy cold! Daisy sorry!” but Finn just watches, eyes colder than winter and before long she was cowed, took a step back and stayed quiet, tears flowing from red-rimmed eyes.
10 Minutes.
Second ticking from his Patek watch.
She just stands there, shaking, her tears freezing into tracks on her cheeks.
Finally, when he deemed it enough, he rolled down the windshield.
"You can go back now," he said, calm as a priest offering absolution. "If you’d prefer."
Daisy didn't speak.
Her lips were cracked and blue.
She just shook her head; sharp, fast and frantic.
He opened the door.
She climbed in, her small body trembling, limbs stiff with frost and her tears frozen on her red cheeks.
“Understood?”
She nods.
Something in her eyes went quiet.
Like a candle snuffed out.
That was the moment Daisy understood her place in this family.
And she never misbehaves again.