A wealthy businessman meets a mysterious boy at his son’s grave…And that one unexpected encounter would turn his entire life upside down.

The fog rolled in over the old cemetery on the outskirts of Kyiv, shrouding gravestones beneath a ghostly veil. Wind hissed softly through the towering crowns of hundred-year-old lindens. In the distance, flickering lanterns cut pale lines of light through the mist, like warnings from another world.

Richard Levinson, a man whose name carried weight in boardrooms across Europe, stood motionless before a sleek, black granite headstone. His custom wool coat, tailored for winter rain, had soaked through at the cuffs—but he didn’t notice. In his gloved hands, he clutched a bouquet of white lilies. In his chest, an ache that hadn’t eased in five years pulsed relentlessly.

The grave of his son, Leo, was the only place where Richard allowed himself to be human. To be broken.

“I’m sorry, son,” he whispered, kneeling and brushing the damp stone with trembling fingers. His voice cracked.

And then—

A rustle. Quiet, but distinct. Behind him.

Richard turned abruptly, heart lurching.

Through the fog, near a neighboring grave, stood a small figure. A boy. No older than ten. He was hunched, wrapped in a tattered coat, chin tucked to his chest, barely visible in the gray gloom. His boots were soaked. His posture was still. But his eyes—those eyes—burned with a kind of unspoken sorrow that pierced straight through Richard’s guarded heart.

“Hey, kid!” Richard called, stepping toward him. His voice sliced the silence like a blade. “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

The boy flinched, then turned on his heel and bolted, scattering gravel as he fled into the bushes. Within seconds, he vanished.

Richard stood frozen. His heart thumped wildly.

Who was that child?

And why was he lingering beside Leo’s grave, of all places?

The cemetery was private. Guarded. No outsiders were allowed to roam freely—especially not in such terrible weather.

That gaze. Those eyes. They haunted Richard.

There was something eerily familiar about them. As if… as if the past had looked back at him.

Still staring into the darkness where the boy had disappeared, Richard pulled out his phone.

“Daniel,” he said as soon as the call connected. “I need you to find someone. A boy, around ten years old. He was at Leo’s grave. In the cemetery near the old storehouse. I need to know who he is, and what the hell he was doing there.”

“Richard,” came Daniel’s groggy voice. Loyal, dependable, but still half-asleep. “At this hour? The old cemetery? You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Richard replied coldly. “I’m not imagining this. Something’s not right.”

As he hung up, a low hum of unease buzzed in his chest. He stared once more at Leo’s name etched into the polished stone, searching for comfort. The stone offered none.

The lilies quivered in the wind, petals already damp and sagging. Rain began to fall again, gently at first, then harder. And yet Richard remained, rooted to the ground, trying to piece together a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed.

That night, back in his grand mansion—its marble halls echoing with silence—he couldn’t sleep. Not even the comfort of his leather-bound chair or the fireplace’s glow could calm his thoughts. The boy… his eyes… his presence… It all felt like a sign.

A warning.

A secret.

But Richard had no idea that this brief encounter would be the first crack in the wall he’d built around his heart.

And that the truth behind that boy would soon not only shatter his grief—but offer him a second chance at life.