Sophie hesitated only briefly before leaning forward. Emily tilted the bottle, letting a few drops touch her lips.
At that exact moment, Alexander stormed across the plaza, fury distorting his face.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” he roared.
He slapped the bottle from Sophie’s hands and shoved Emily so hard she fell against the stones. The glass shattered, releasing a bitter herbal scent. Without hesitation, Alexander grabbed the girl’s arm.
“Stay away from my daughter, you filthy street rat! Don’t ever come near her again!”
Trembling, Emily scrambled to her feet and ran.
Alexander turned back to scold Sophie—but froze.
She was clutching her throat. A cough escaped her. Her small body trembled, and then, breaking five years of silence, a fragile sound emerged.
“Da… daddy.”
Alexander’s world stopped.
His knees buckled against the pavement. Tears blurred his vision as he gathered her in his arms.
“Sophie… say it again. Please.”
“Daddy,” she whispered, stronger this time.
He wept openly, undone by the miracle he had longed for. But even as gratitude flooded him, another thought crept in—cold and calculating. The spilled liquid on the stones… that was opportunity.
By the next morning, his men had found Emily beneath a highway overpass. Alexander brought her to his mansion, apologizing profusely, showering her with gifts, fine clothes, and lavish meals. Sophie was ecstatic, believing she had gained a sister.
Weeks passed. While the girls played, Alexander questioned Emily in his study.
“What herbs did your grandmother use?” he would ask casually, offering sweets.
Innocently, Emily described sage and mint gathered at dawn, grated ginger, wild honey, chamomile steeped exactly seven minutes in glass. Alexander memorized every word.
Once he believed he had the complete formula, his kindness vanished.
“You’ve been helpful,” he told her coldly one evening, sliding a duffel bag of cash across his desk. “Take this and leave.”
Emily stared at him, devastated. “I didn’t want money. I just wanted a family.”
“Business is business,” he replied, forcing her out.
Sophie’s cries echoed through the hall. “Daddy, no! She’s my friend!”
But Alexander had already chosen ambition over love.
Soon the market was flooded with “Voice of Hope,” bottled in elegant containers, sold at impossible prices. Commercials featured Sophie’s story. Desperate families spent their savings for a chance at a miracle.