Damon sat in the front passenger seat, while Leo and I sat in the back.

Leo slept through the entire flight to Chicago, his head resting heavily in my lap.

By midnight, the black town car pulled up to the tall iron gates of the Gold Coast mansion.

The house loomed in the darkness, a massive limestone fortress overlooking the black waters of Lake Michigan.

It looked exactly as I had left it—cold, grand, and entirely devoid of warmth.

The butler, an older man named Joseph who had worked for Damon’s family for decades, stood by the entrance.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Vale,” Joseph said, bowing his head respectfully.

“Thank you, Joseph,” I said, keeping my face neutral.

I carried Leo up the grand spiral staircase, my boots making no sound on the thick, Persian runners.

At the landing, I turned left toward the east wing, leaving Damon standing in the main foyer below.

The guest suite was spacious, with a large king-sized bed, a private sitting room, and a small adjoining bedroom for Leo.

I laid Leo down in his bed, pulled the heavy down comforter over his shoulders, and kissed his forehead.