The afternoon sun was warm and golden over the sprawling backyard of the Keith mansion. This wasn't the cold, sterile villa in California or the dark, snowy halls of Moscow. This was home. The grass was a perfect, deep green, and long tables were covered in bright blue tablecloths and silver balloons.
In the center of it all was a large banner that read: HAPPY 3RD BIRTHDAY, THEODORE!
They had changed his name from Mateo. It was a fresh start, a way to wash away the last traces of the Volkov shadow. To everyone here, he was Theo—a happy, energetic boy who spent most of the afternoon chasing a golden retriever puppy across the lawn. He had Fiona's hazel eyes and Nathan's stubborn chin, but today, he just had a face full of chocolate cake.
