Chapter 1

The world felt perfect, a solid, well-designed structure. As an architect, I appreciated that. My life with my daughter, Lily, was a quiet blueprint of happiness, two souls living in a house I had designed myself. Then Sophia entered our lives, bringing with her a warmth that filled the empty spaces I hadn't even realized were there. She was gentle, her smile genuine, and she had a son, Lucas.

I lost my first wife years ago, and Sophia lost her husband. We were two incomplete halves finding a future together. Our children, Lily and Lucas, seemed to click instantly.

Lucas was an angelic-looking boy, with soft blond hair and wide, innocent blue eyes. He treated Lily with a gentle care that melted my heart, always making sure she was included in his games, always calling her his "best sister." They were the picture of a perfect blended family in the making.

The day I proposed to Sophia, the sun was bright, and our future felt just as brilliant. We gathered our families for a small party in my backyard. Sophia cried, I smiled, and Lily and Lucas cheered, holding hands. It was a flawless moment, the kind you build a life upon.

Our first family trip was a camping weekend in the woods. It was meant to solidify our bond. It did, but not in the way I expected. On our last day, while packing up, Lily ran to me, her face pale. She led me to a hollowed-out log behind our campsite. Inside, laid out in a neat, disturbing row, were a dozen dolls. They were all broken, their hair snipped off, their plastic limbs twisted at unnatural angles, their eyes gouged out.

"Lucas said it's his collection," Lily whispered.

When I confronted him, Lucas just smiled his angelic smile. "They were already broken, Ethan. I just found them and gave them a home." Sophia rushed to his defense, stroking his hair, telling me he was a sensitive boy who felt sorry for discarded things. I let it go, but a cold feeling settled in my gut.

A week later, Lily fell sick. It started with a rash, a strange, spiderweb-like pattern that spread across her small body. Doctors were baffled. No cream, no antibiotic, no treatment worked. Her fever spiked, and she grew weaker each day.

Throughout her illness, Lucas was the perfect, doting brother. He brought her a music box, a beautiful antique thing he said was his father' s. He would sit by her bed for hours, winding it up, letting the gentle melody fill the sterile hospital room. But I started to notice something else. When he thought no one was watching, his sweet expression would vanish, replaced by a cold, detached curiosity as he stared at Lily's fading form.

The day Lily died, the music box was playing its tune. I was holding her hand, begging her to stay, when I looked up and saw Lucas standing in the doorway. There were no tears in his eyes. There was only a quiet, unnerving stillness. In that moment, the horrible truth crashed down on me. The dolls, the rash, the music box... it was all him. He was the monster hiding behind an angel's face.

My world didn't just crumble; it was annihilated. The grief was a physical force, a weight that crushed my lungs, my heart, my will to live. The last thing I remembered was the sound of that infernal music box melody, a sound I now associated with pure evil, echoing in my head as everything went black.

Then, I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs. The scent of grilled burgers and fresh-cut grass filled the air. Laughter and cheerful chatter surrounded me. I looked down at my hands. I was holding a small, velvet ring box.

Across from me, Sophia was smiling, her eyes brimming with happy tears.

"Yes," she said, her voice full of love. "Yes, Ethan, I' ll marry you."

It was the day of our engagement party. The day it all began. The day before the nightmare started. And standing beside Sophia, holding her hand and beaming up at me, was her son, Lucas.