The black town car pulled away from the curb, carrying Sera away from the Blackwood tower. Kaelen stood on the gleaming sidewalk, watching it go. Sera's words, delivered in that same, hollow, obedient tone, echoed in her mind.
"My uncle called. A… family matter. I likely won't be home tonight."
It was a lie. They both knew it. A flimsy excuse to escape the penthouse, to escape her. The revulsion in Sera's eyes in the elevator had been a living thing. Kaelen didn't blame her. After the forced closeness of the press event, the last thing Sera would want was to be trapped in the same apartment as her tormentor.
The Dominion had worn off completely, leaving Kaelen feeling scraped raw and hollow. The echo of the System's punishment twinged in her calf. She should go back upstairs, to the cold, silent luxury that was her prison. She should review the quarterly reports she'd barely absorbed. She should be the heir.
But the thought of that empty penthouse, filled with the ghost of Sera's fear and her own failure, was unbearable.
She turned, intending to head back through the soaring, art filled lobby of the residential wing, a space designed to intimidate as much as to impress. And that's when she saw her.
A small splash of color against a vast, minimalist marble wall. Iris. She was sitting on the edge of a brutalist bench, her glowing teddy bear clutched to her chest, her legs swinging slightly. She looked impossibly small and out of place amidst the wealthy, rushing residents and the stern, watchful security.
How had she gotten down here? Sera must have moved them in just days before the transmigration, a frantic, secretive act to hide her niece. The building's staff, accustomed to the eccentricities of the ultra rich, probably hadn't even registered the child's existence, let alone her comings and goings.
As Kaelen watched, a security guard in a sharp uniform walked past Iris without a glance. The child shrunk in on herself slightly.
Without thinking, Kaelen walked over. Her smart lenses, ever active, flickered with a notification.
Iris Vesper. Approximate Approval: 0%.
The neutral zero was still there. A tiny anchor in her storm.
"Iris?" Kaelen said, her voice softer than she'd used with anyone in this world.
The girl's head snapped up, her eyes wide with immediate fear. She looked around, as if expecting Sera to materialize.
"Are you okay?" Kaelen asked, kneeling down to be less intimidating. The gesture felt awkward, unnatural. The old Kaelen would never have bent her knee to anyone.
Iris's lower lip trembled. "The bus… it stopped me here earlier. I told them my mom is living here but they kept ignoring me." Her voice was a tiny, frustrated whisper. "They wouldn't let me back up. They said my keycard was invalid."
Of course it was, Kaelen thought, a surge of anger that was entirely her own flashing through her. Sera, trapped and powerless, wouldn't have the clearance to get a permanent keycard for a child she wasn't supposed to have. The system, in its ruthless efficiency, had locked a nine year old girl out of her home.
She sighed. "Poor child," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
She stood up, her movements suddenly decisive. She strode toward the concierge desk, her heels clicking authoritatively on the marble. The head of lobby security, a tall Beta man with a impeccably blank expression, looked up.
"Miss Blackwood. How can I assist you?"
Kaelen didn't smile. She let the cold, bored authority of her name and her family do the talking. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger back toward Iris, who was watching with terrified eyes.
"That child," Kaelen stated, her voice leaving no room for question. "Is mine. If you see her, you are to escort her directly to my penthouse immediately. Update her biometrics and issue a full access keycard. Now."
The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Iris, then back at Kaelen, his professional mask faltering for a second as he processed the existence of an unregistered Blackwood heir. "O of course, Miss Blackwood. Right away. My apologies for the inconvenience."
"See that it doesn't happen again," she said, turning on her heel before he could form another word.
She walked back to Iris, who was now standing, her teddy bear held like a shield.
"There," Kaelen said, her tone shifting back to something she hoped was less frightening. "I fixed it. They will let you in next time." She paused, looking at the small, forlorn figure. "And by the way, have you eaten? You must be hungry from waiting."
Iris just shyly nodded, her big blue eyes still wary but now filled with a dawning, confused hope.
"Okay," Kaelen said, the plan forming in an instant. The penthouse was a tomb. The corporate world was a battlefield. But this… this was something else. "Let's go to the mall then. We'll eat. And buy you some stuff. Whatever you like."
She held out her hand, a gesture that felt monumental.
Iris stared at the offered hand for a long moment, then slowly, hesitantly, placed her small one in it.
As they walked out of the lobby, past the now deferential security staff, Kaelen waited for it. The searing pain. The System's warning. A deviation this massive the villainess taking the victim's secret child on a shopping trip surely warranted a catastrophic penalty.
But nothing happened.
Her smart lenses remained clear. Her body was free of pain. The only sound was the soft shuffle of Iris's steps beside her and the distant hum of the city.
It was then she understood. The System was bound to the plot, to the written story. And in the original webnovel, Iris was a hidden secret, a reveal for much later. The original Kaelen never knew she existed until the very end. Therefore, any interaction with Iris was… unscripted. Off the page. It existed outside the System's jurisdiction. It was a loophole. A tiny, fragile pocket of freedom.
For the first time since she'd woken up on that cold floor, Kaelen Blackwood took a full, deep breath that didn't feel like a performance. She looked down at the small hand in hers, at a child who looked at her with 0% approval not love, not even trust, but a blank slate.
It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.