Awareness sharpens slowly when you're trapped in an infant body.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't walk. But my thoughts? Crystal clear. I watched the world from beneath long lashes and silence. Every day, I absorbed a little more of the puzzle.
The Royce Estate was a palace dressed as a modern mansion. Nothing flashy—because real wealth doesn't need to prove itself. But everything was measured. The hallways were wide enough for comfort, but not indulgence. Staff moved with quiet grace. Security wore suits, not uniforms. Cameras were hidden. Movements were tracked without visible tech.
This was a fortress with manners.
The house staff spoke often when they didn't think I could hear. Names floated to me—
Caroline, the sharp-eyed head housekeeper.
Robert, the loyal driver who barely blinked.
Dr. Harrington, my personal pediatrician who carried himself like a surgeon for kings.
And then there was Ms. Lane.
Young. Probably in her early twenties. A nanny with soft features and a voice that carried warmth. She hummed old jazz tunes when she thought no one was listening. She smiled at me often—too often.
I'd seen that look before. In a hundred lifetimes. That mix of curiosity and affection. A woman sensing something unusual in a child, but not understanding why.
Sometimes, when she fed me, she'd whisper:
"You're not like other babies, are you?"
No.
I wasn't.
My days were short, but I filled them. Watching. Listening. Thinking.
I began testing the environment in small ways. Nothing obvious. Just… shifts.
I'd stare at people longer than a baby should. Wait until they squirmed. Track footsteps in the hall. Memorize the routes of those who passed by my nursery. I noticed patterns in when the rooms were cleaned. When the security rotated.
And the most fascinating variable of all…
Alexander.
He never stayed long, but when he did, it was always deliberate. Like he was making time he didn't have. His presence filled the room like smoke—heavy, measured, unavoidable.
Sometimes, when it was just the two of us, he'd hold me and say things no one else could hear.
"I built this for you," he said once, his voice low, deep with fatigue. "Everything. One day you'll understand."
There was weight in that confession. Not just empire weight. Emotional weight.
Alexander Royce—man of markets, mergers, and quiet menace—loved me.
He didn't say it often. He didn't need to. I knew it in the way he held me. The way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly in my presence. The way he looked at me, not like a project, but like a promise.
He wasn't perfect. No man is. But he was mine. And for the first time in any life… I had a father.
It wasn't just the family I studied—it was the world they lived in.
The media screens whispered financial news in the background. M&A deals. Scandals. Political shifts. It was 2040, and the world was faster, colder, richer.
The Royce name appeared in hushed tones. Not in tabloids—but in strategic documents. Governments didn't regulate them—they partnered with them.
I'd been born into the eye of a hurricane.
And I was going to own it.
But not yet.
No need to rush.
First, I needed to understand where the cracks were. No empire is flawless. And this one—this beautifully curated, quietly omnipotent family—had weak points. I could sense them.
A distant relative. An ambitious board member. A housemaid who listened too closely. I marked them mentally, one by one.
And all the while, I played my part. The perfect baby. Quiet. Healthy. Smiling when expected. Never crying without reason.
Let them think I was soft. Let them believe I was normal.
They'd never see me coming.
The first time I laughed wasn't by accident.
Alexander had entered the nursery one evening, holding a rare moment of freedom in his stiff frame. Evelyn followed behind, dressed in black silk, elegant even in exhaustion.
They stood over my crib, and for a moment, they didn't speak.
Just… watched me.
I met his eyes. Then hers.
And I laughed.
A bright, light sound. Perfectly timed.
Alexander blinked, and then—smiled.
A real one. Broad, alive. The kind of smile that reminded me he was still human underneath all that armor.
Evelyn laughed, too. A soft laugh. A laugh that reached her eyes.
And in that moment, the three of us existed not as tycoons, heirs, or ghosts—
But as a family.
I liked that moment.
So I decided to keep it.