Chapter 2
His arms tightened around my back.
“I thought you might not come.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“I know.”
He pulled away and looked at me. His eyes were wet, but he refused to let the tears fall.
“I’m glad you did.”
“So am I.”
Behind him, someone cleared her throat.
Rebecca Hale stood in the doorway.
She had changed very little. Her chestnut hair was shorter now, styled neatly around her face. She wore a pale green dress and a small diamond pendant I remembered seeing ten years earlier.
The pendant had belonged to her father.
Her gaze moved from Ethan to me.
“Rebecca,” Alexander said.
“I know who she is.”
Her voice was composed, but her fingers tightened around the edge of the door.
I studied her expression. There was no triumph in it. No satisfaction. Only something I couldn’t immediately name.
Guilt, perhaps.
Or fear.
“Welcome home,” she said.
The words were polite enough to sound cruel.
I looked past her into the bright hall.
“This was never my home.”
Ethan’s face tightened.
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
Alexander placed a hand near the small of my back, not quite touching me.
“Let’s go inside.”
I stepped through the doorway.
The estate smelled exactly as I remembered: cedar, beeswax, cinnamon, and the faint mineral scent of the fountain in the central hall. A tall Christmas tree reached nearly to the ceiling, covered in silver ornaments and white candles. Beneath it sat dozens of gifts wrapped in dark green paper.
At the foot of the staircase stood Alexander’s mother, Margaret Russo.
She was smaller than I remembered, though perhaps age had only made the house seem larger around her. Her silver hair was swept into a knot. She wore a burgundy velvet jacket and held a cane in one hand.
Her eyes found mine.
“Claire.”
I had not heard her say my name in ten years.
I had forgotten how much it could hurt.
“Margaret.”
She came down one step, then stopped.
“I’m glad you came.”
“You sent Alexander to collect me.”
“No.” Her mouth tightened. “Ethan asked him.”
I looked at Ethan.
He shifted uncomfortably.
“I wanted you here,” he said. “I didn’t know Dad would bring half the security team.”
Alexander’s expression darkened. “That’s not relevant.”
“It is to me.”
The boy—my son—had challenged his father without raising his voice. Alexander seemed more unsettled by that than he would have been by an argument.