Julian did not answer immediately.

He looked over at Emma, who let out a soft sigh in her sleep, her small fingers twitching against Margaret’s sweater.

“Because I do not like losing,” Julian said. “And I do not let people take what is mine.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine.

“Take her upstairs, Margaret,” Julian ordered, not looking back. “The third floor is locked to everyone else.”

Margaret gave a single, firm nod.

“Come, Claire,” Margaret said, her voice dropping its usual sharp edge. “Bring the girl’s blanket.”

I looked at Julian one last time, but he had already turned back to his desk, picking up the ringing telephone.

“Mercer,” I heard him say as I followed Margaret out of the library.

We walked down the long, shadowed hallway toward the service stairs.

The mansion was silent, save for the wind howling off Lake Michigan, rattling the tall limestone windows.

We climbed the narrow, wooden stairs to the third floor.

It was a part of the house I had never seen, reserved entirely for Julian’s private use.