The silence in the Ford mansion was only broken by the soft, rhythmic tapping of Chane's leather shoes against the polished marble floors.
His eyes were shadowed from a sleepless night spent alone in his study. The room had been dark, lit only by the blue hue of his laptop screen, but his mind had been far darker—haunted by memories of Danelle.
He hadn't expected to see her. Not after all these years. And yet, there she was. Alive. Glowing. And with children.
Children.
The thought sent a strange pang through his chest. He had replayed the moment at the restaurant over and over again in his head. Her eyes—startled, guarded, but still somehow soft. She hadn't changed a bit. If anything, she looked even more radiant than he remembered.
He reached the foot of the staircase, straightening his suit jacket and grabbing his car keys from the console. He needed air—or maybe distraction. Either way, he was heading to the office.
