At 11:42 on a rain-soaked Tuesday night in Chicago, I accidentally texted “F*ck you” to a mafia boss.
He turned.
“Not entirely.”
The honesty chilled me.
He continued.
“I have legitimate companies that employ thousands of people. Banks are nervous. Investors are nervous. Certain families I do business with are interpreting my unmarried status and private life as instability.”
I stared.
“You need a wife.”
“A fiancée.”
“No.”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“The answer is still no.”
Something close to amusement appeared in his expression.
“I need someone outside my world. Educated. Employed. Clean background. Someone the press cannot easily dismiss as another person on my payroll.”
“You investigated me because of a wrong text and decided I would make good public relations?”
“When you put it that way, it lacks romance.”
“There is no romance.”
“Exactly.”
I grabbed my portfolio.
“Find someone else.”
I reached the elevator.
“Your firm needs this contract.”
I stopped.
Anger rushed through me.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t threatened anyone.”
“You don’t need to. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t pretend.
I turned around.
“If I agree to design your home, that does not mean I belong to you.”
“No one said you did.”
“And if I ever pretend to be your fiancée, which is a ridiculous sentence I can’t believe I’m saying, I set the rules.”
Lucian’s eyebrows lifted.
“You’re negotiating?”
“I accidentally told a mafia boss to go to hell last night. My decision-making has already hit rock bottom.”
Gideon coughed into his fist.
It sounded suspiciously like laughter.
I pointed at Lucian.
“No threats to Kyle. No threats to Madison. No illegal errands. No guns around me unless there’s an actual emergency. Separate bedrooms. I keep my job. I keep my apartment. And the second I want out, I’m out.”
Lucian considered me.
“What do you get?”
“My firm gets the design contract.”
“Obviously.”
“And you donate two million dollars to the Southside Housing Renewal Fund.”
For the first time, he looked genuinely surprised.
“Two million?”
“You’re a billionaire.”
“That’s not how billionaires stay billionaires.”
“Then hire an actress.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Finally, he extended his hand.
“Three months.”
“Six weeks.”
“Twelve.”
“Eight.”
“Ten.”
“Fine.”
His hand remained extended.
I took it.
His palm was warm.
His grip was careful.
“Ten weeks,” he said.
I looked him directly in the eyes.
“And when they’re over, Lucian, you disappear from my life.”
He smiled faintly.
“At the rate we’re going, Harper, I suspect you’ll be the one having trouble disappearing from mine.”
I should have walked away then.
Instead, I signed the contract.
And ten days later, the entire city believed I was marrying the most dangerous man in Chicago.
Part 2
The diamond was enormous.
I hated it immediately.
“It looks like it has its own zip code,” I told Lucian.
We were standing inside Halcyon Tower before our first public appearance.
He adjusted his cuff links.
“People expect excess.”
“People with taste don’t.”
“You’re insulting my ring.”
“I’m insulting whoever sold it to you.”
“Gideon chose it.”
Across the room, Gideon looked offended.
“I was given forty minutes.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Lucian looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“It happens.”
“Not around me.”
“Maybe that’s something you should think about.”
His expression softened.
Those moments began occurring more often than I wanted to admit.
The arrangement should have been simple.
Appear together twice a week.
Attend charity dinners.
Be photographed leaving restaurants.
Let gossip writers create their own explanations.
Instead, I began learning details about Lucian that did not fit the monster I had constructed in my head.
He hated olives.
He slept four hours a night.
He read history books at breakfast.
He could make perfect scrambled eggs but somehow burned toast.
He donated anonymously to a rehabilitation center on the South Side because his older brother had died from an overdose when Lucian was nineteen.
He called his seventy-eight-year-old aunt every Sunday.
And whenever one of his employees entered a room, he knew their name.
None of that erased what he was.
I reminded myself of that constantly.
One Thursday evening, we were eating dinner at the temporary apartment he used three floors below the unfinished penthouse.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Why are you really doing this?”
He looked up from his steak.
“We’ve discussed this.”
“No. You’ve discussed investors. Banks. Reputation. That’s business language.”
He put down his fork.
I continued.
“You don’t strike me as somebody who cares what society pages think.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
His eyes hardened slightly.
“Careful.”
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The man everyone warns me about.”
Lucian leaned back.
“Perhaps you should listen to them.”
“Perhaps I would if you stopped making breakfast.”
Silence passed between us.
Then he sighed.
“My father built an organization around fear. Fear worked for him.”
“And for you?”
“For a long time.”
He looked toward the windows.
“I was twenty-four when he died. Every ambitious man beneath him expected the organization to fracture. If I’d shown hesitation, they would have destroyed each other fighting for control.”
“So you became worse than him.”
“For a while.”
The answer was quiet.
No pride.
That mattered.
“I consolidated everything,” he continued. “Then I started moving money into legal businesses. Construction. Logistics. Commercial real estate. My father’s generation considered that weakness.”
“Because legitimate money wasn’t exciting enough?”
“Because legitimate businesses require patience. Violence is faster.”
I shivered.
Lucian noticed.
“I don’t expect you to approve.”
“Good.”
“But you asked.”
“Do people still get hurt because of you?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes.”
Something inside me sank.
“Then don’t ask me to think you’re secretly good.”
“I haven’t.”
His honesty was brutal.
Maybe that was why I trusted him more than I should have.
He didn’t ask to be forgiven for things he hadn’t repaired.
Three weeks into our arrangement, Kyle appeared outside my office.
I almost walked past him.
“Harper.”
My body froze before my mind did.
He looked terrible.
Wrinkled shirt. Red eyes. No Madison.
“What do you want?”
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“I gave you four years. You’ve used your lifetime supply of my attention.”
His jaw tightened.
“Is this about Moretti?”
I laughed bitterly.
“You cheated on me with my cousin and somehow you’re jealous?”
“You don’t know what kind of man he is.”
“And you did?”
Kyle stepped closer.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
That hurt more than it should have.
Not because I believed him.
Because I remembered all the times he had spoken to me exactly like that and I had mistaken contempt for confidence.
“You know what’s strange?” I said.
“What?”
“I spent years thinking you were the safest person in my life.”
His face softened.
“Harper—”
“And then I met a man the entire city is afraid of.”
I moved closer.
“He has never once made me feel as small as you did.”
Kyle flinched.
Good.
I walked away.
That evening, Lucian knew something was wrong before I said a word.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Harper.”
“I ran into Kyle.”
His face became unreadable.
“Where?”
“No.”
“I asked where.”
“And I’m telling you whatever violent little idea just entered your mind is unnecessary.”
“I didn’t say anything violent.”
“You looked violent.”
“I have a versatile face.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Lucian surprised me.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll leave it alone.”
I stared.
“That’s it?”
“You asked me not to interfere with him.”
“Yes.”
“I gave you my word.”
Something warm and dangerous moved through my chest.
I looked away.
“Thank you.”
Lucian’s voice softened.
“You shouldn’t have to thank a man for respecting a boundary.”
That sentence followed me upstairs.
It followed me into bed.
It followed me through the next morning.
Because the man I’d planned to marry had spent years teaching me that boundaries were obstacles to negotiate.
The alleged criminal downstairs treated mine like law.
That didn’t make Lucian good.
But it forced me to ask why I had accepted so little from Kyle.
Our first kiss happened by accident.
At least that’s what I told myself.
We were leaving a restaurant when photographers surrounded us.
Lucian placed a protective hand against my back.
“Stay close.”
“I am close.”
“Closer.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Someone shouted, “Lucian, is the wedding this year?”
Another yelled, “Harper, are you pregnant?”
I muttered, “I hate people.”
Lucian whispered, “Smile.”
“I am smiling.”
“You look homicidal.”
“I learned from you.”
He laughed.
The cameras exploded with flashes.
Then somebody shouted from behind the crowd.
“Harper!”
Kyle.
He stood across the street.
Watching us.
Lucian’s laughter vanished.
“He’s been following you?”
“I don’t know.”
Lucian’s hand tightened slightly at my waist.
Then he leaned closer.
“Kiss me.”
My pulse jumped.
“What?”
“He’s watching.”
I pulled back.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s convincing.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Harper.”
His eyes shifted briefly toward Kyle.
Something in me snapped.
Maybe I was tired of being watched.
Maybe I was tired of Kyle believing he still had a vote in my life.
Maybe I was tired of pretending the electricity between Lucian and me wasn’t real.
So I grabbed Lucian’s tie and kissed him.
The crowd erupted.
Lucian went completely still.
For one second, I thought I had made a terrible mistake.
Then his hand moved to my cheek.
And he kissed me back.
Not for the cameras.
I knew immediately.
His body turned slightly, shielding me from the photographers. The hand at my face was gentle. His mouth moved against mine without urgency, without performance, as if he were giving me every opportunity to stop.
I didn’t.
When we separated, the street seemed strangely quiet despite the shouting photographers.
Lucian stared down at me.
“That wasn’t in the contract.”
“No.”
“Do you regret it?”
I should have said yes.
Instead, I whispered, “Ask me tomorrow.”
Kyle was gone.
But he had left something behind.
Fear.
Because later that night, Gideon entered Lucian’s study with an expression I’d never seen before.
“Problem.”
Lucian stood.
“What?”
Gideon glanced at me.
“Harper should leave.”
“No,” I said.
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“Harper.”
“I hate when people decide what I can hear.”
Gideon placed a folder on the desk.
“Kyle Bradley owes approximately four hundred thousand dollars.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Sports betting. Private card games. Bad investments. Some of the debt belongs to men connected to Victor Salerno.”
Lucian went very still.
“Since when?”
“Eight months.”
“Who’s Victor Salerno?” I asked.
Neither answered.
“Lucian.”
“A rival.”
The word was enough.
Gideon continued.
“Kyle has been making inquiries about Harper’s schedule.”
Cold spread through me.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Lucian picked up his phone.
I grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“He involved you.”
“You promised.”
“I promised not to interfere because he cheated on you. This is different.”
“You’re not killing him.”
His voice went quiet.
“Harper, if Salerno is using Kyle to get close to me, he’s put you in danger.”
“Then protect me without murdering anybody.”
Something fierce moved through Lucian’s expression.
“You still believe every problem has a clean solution.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“I believe if you keep choosing the dirty one because it’s faster, you’ll never become anything different.”
The room went silent.
Gideon looked away.
Lucian slowly lowered his phone.
“You think I can become different?”
“I think you haven’t decided whether you want to.”
That was the first time I saw Lucian Moretti look afraid.
Not of a gun.
Not of a rival.
Of himself.
Two days later, our engagement gala arrived.
And before midnight, somebody tried to kill him.
Part 3
The Winterlight Foundation Gala occupied the ballroom of the Ashford Hotel, a glittering palace of chandeliers, white roses, champagne, and wealthy people pretending not to stare at us.
I wore a deep emerald gown.
Lucian wore black.
When we entered, his hand rested lightly at my back.
“Remember,” he murmured.
“What?”
“You can leave whenever you want.”
I looked at him.
That hadn’t been part of our original arrangement.
It was now.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
His gray eyes held mine.
“That’s becoming a problem.”
My heart stumbled.
“Lucian—”
“After tonight.”
“What happens after tonight?”
“We stop pretending.”
Before I could answer, Gideon appeared.
His expression was wrong.
Lucian noticed immediately.
“What?”
“We have movement downstairs.”
“What kind?”
“Unknown vehicle in the loading area. Two security badges aren’t checking correctly.”
Lucian’s hand moved from my back to my arm.
“We’re leaving.”
“What about everyone else?”
“The hotel has security.”
“Lucian.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are not turning this into a rescue mission.”
“If you believe someone is attacking this place because you’re here, we warn people.”
His eyes flashed with frustration.
Then he looked at Gideon.
“Start evacuation procedures quietly.”
Gideon nodded.
A waiter dropped a tray.
The crash made half the ballroom turn.
Then the lights went out.
People gasped.
Emergency lights flickered on.
A shout came from the corridor.
Lucian pulled me behind him.
“Stay with me.”
The ballroom doors opened violently.
Three masked men entered.
Guests screamed.
There was a sharp crack.
A bullet struck the marble column beside us.
Lucian pushed me to the floor behind a banquet table.
“Don’t move.”
“Where are you going?”
“To end this.”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked almost angry at my fear.
Not because I was afraid.
Because he cared that I was.
“Harper, listen to me. Gideon is getting you out through the kitchen.”
“And you?”
“I’ll follow.”
“You’re lying.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m very good at it.”
“I noticed.”
Another shot echoed.
Glass shattered somewhere across the ballroom.
Gideon reached us.
“Now.”
He pulled me toward the service corridor while Lucian covered our movement.
We reached the kitchen.
Chefs and servers were crouched behind counters.
An emergency exit stood twenty feet away.
We were almost there when Kyle stepped from behind a pantry door.
At first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then I saw the gun shaking in his hand.
“Kyle?”
His face was pale.
Sweat soaked his collar.
“I’m sorry.”
Gideon immediately moved in front of me.
Kyle raised the weapon.
“Don’t.”
Gideon stopped.
Kyle’s eyes darted toward the ballroom.
“Where’s Moretti?”
My blood ran cold.
“Kyle, put it down.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“They were going to kill me.”
“Who?”
“Salerno’s people. I owed them money. They said if I got them into the hotel, my debt disappeared.”
I stared at the man I had once planned to marry.
“You helped armed men enter a charity gala?”
His eyes filled with panic.
“I didn’t know they were going to do this.”
“What did you think they were going to do?”
“I don’t know!”
His voice broke.
Then Lucian appeared at the end of the corridor.
Kyle immediately swung the gun toward him.
Lucian stopped.
Everything changed.
The panic vanished from his face.
His posture relaxed.
His voice became quiet.
“Kyle.”
“Don’t come closer.”
“I won’t.”
“I swear I’ll shoot.”
“I believe you.”
Kyle’s arm trembled violently.
Lucian’s eyes moved briefly toward me.
“Harper, go with Gideon.”
“No.”
“Please.”
It was the please that broke me.
I’d never heard Lucian say it like that.
Kyle laughed shakily.
“Look at this. Chicago’s great Lucian Moretti begging.”
Lucian didn’t react.
“Kyle, you’re not leaving this hotel if you fire that weapon.”
“Your people will kill me anyway.”
“No.”
Kyle blinked.
“What?”
“I give you my word.”
I looked at Lucian.
So did Gideon.
Lucian continued.
“Put it down. You’ll be arrested. You’ll answer for what you’ve done. But no one who works for me will touch you.”
Kyle looked confused.
Maybe because monsters weren’t supposed to offer mercy.
“You’re lying.”
Lucian’s eyes hardened.
“No. But Victor Salerno lied to you. He used your fear because frightened men are easy to control.”
Kyle’s face twisted.
“Shut up.”
Lucian took one slow step forward.
“You lost money.”
Another step.
“You betrayed Harper.”
Another.
“You sold access to a room full of innocent people.”
Kyle’s finger tightened around the trigger.
“But you’re still standing here pretending all of this happened to you.”
“Stop!”
Kyle fired.
I screamed.
Lucian twisted.
The bullet struck his shoulder and spun him sideways.
He hit the wall.
Gideon moved instantly.
Kyle barely had time to look shocked before Gideon knocked the weapon from his hand and forced him to the floor.
I ran to Lucian.
“Lucian!”
He was sitting against the wall, one hand pressed over his shoulder.
Blood darkened the fabric between his fingers, but he was conscious.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been shot!”
“I’ve had worse Tuesdays.”
“Shut up.”
I ripped a clean towel from a kitchen cart and pressed it against the wound.
He winced.
“Gentler.”
“You’re criticizing my emergency medical technique?”
“A little.”
Tears blurred my vision.
His expression changed when he saw them.
“Harper.”
“Don’t.”
“You’re safe.”
“You got shot.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“This is not funny.”
“No.”
His good hand touched my face.
It was trembling.
That terrified me more than the blood.
“You should leave,” he whispered.
“What?”
“When this is over. Leave Chicago if you want. I’ll pay for anything you need. Your contract is finished.”
I stared at him.
“You think this is about a contract?”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve spent two months asking me to become something better.”
His voice weakened.
“And I’m not sure people like me get to become better.”
I pressed harder against his shoulder.
He sucked in a breath.
“Then become better out of spite.”
A broken laugh escaped him.
“That’s your advice?”
“Yes.”
Sirens grew louder outside.
Lucian looked toward the sound.
Then at Gideon.
Something silent passed between them.
Gideon understood first.
“No.”
Lucian’s expression settled.
“Yes.”
“Boss.”
“It’s over.”
Gideon’s face changed.
Years of loyalty, violence, secrets, and survival seemed to pass across it.
“What are you saying?”
Lucian looked at me.
Then back at Gideon.
“Call our attorney.”
“For what?”
“The federal prosecutor who’s been requesting a meeting for three years.”
Gideon stared.
“You know what they’ll demand.”
“Yes.”
“Names.”
“Yes.”
“Records.”
“Yes.”
“Everything.”
Lucian closed his eyes for a moment.
“Yes.”
I understood.
“You’re walking away.”
“If they’ll let me.”
Gideon swore under his breath.
Then he crouched beside Lucian.
“Your father would come out of his grave and kill you himself.”
Lucian gave a faint smile.
“My father has been ruining my life from the grave for twelve years. I’m tired of helping him.”
Three months later, Chicago woke to the largest organized-crime indictment in the city’s recent history.
Lucian’s cooperation wasn’t announced publicly, but secrets in Chicago never stayed secret for long.
Victor Salerno and nine associates were arrested for conspiracy, illegal gambling, financial crimes, and the attack at the Ashford.
Kyle accepted a plea deal.
He was sentenced to prison.
Madison wrote me four letters.
I didn’t answer the first three.
I answered the fourth with six words.
I forgive you. Stay away from me.
Forgiveness, I learned, didn’t always mean reconciliation.
Sometimes it simply meant refusing to carry someone else’s ugliness any longer.
Lucian wasn’t granted a magical clean slate.
He didn’t deserve one.
He spent months meeting prosecutors, attorneys, accountants, and investigators.
He surrendered control of several companies.
Assets tied to criminal activity were seized.
People who had once feared him stopped taking his calls.
People who had once praised him stopped inviting him to dinner.
He lost money.
Power.
Friends who had never really been friends.
And every time he came close to believing he’d made a mistake, I reminded him of something he had once told me.
Violence was faster.
Legitimacy required patience.
So he learned patience.
I finished the penthouse.
That surprised everyone, including me.
But the project had become something else.
Lucian no longer wanted black marble and imposing furniture.
He wanted bookshelves.
Warm wood.
A kitchen people would actually use.
He wanted the guest rooms redesigned because, according to him, “A home shouldn’t feel hostile to visitors.”
“Listen to you,” I said. “Practically civilized.”
He leaned against the kitchen island.
“I have excellent influences.”
“You have one extremely expensive interior designer.”
“You’re charging me?”
“Absolutely.”
“I was shot protecting you.”
“That doesn’t qualify for a design discount.”
“What does?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled.
Six months after the gala, I found him standing at the penthouse windows on a snowy Sunday morning.
No bodyguards.
No suit.
Gray sweatpants, black T-shirt, bare feet.
A man who looked almost ordinary.
Almost.
I held up my phone.
“I found something.”
His expression became wary.
“Should I call my lawyer?”
“Maybe.”
I walked toward him and opened the text thread that had started everything.
My first message remained there.
Fck you. Seriously. Fck you…
Lucian shook his head.
“Your courtship technique was aggressive.”
“I was emotionally distressed.”
“You threatened to ruin my life.”
“I was talking to Kyle.”
“Technically, you threatened me.”
“And look what happened. Your life got ruined.”
He looked around the penthouse.
“Did it?”
The humor left my face.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then I asked the question I had avoided for months.
“Do you regret answering?”
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
He took the phone from my hand and placed it on the counter.
“I should have ignored you.”
“Oh.”
“I should have recognized a wrong number and deleted the message.”
He stepped closer.
“I should never have sent people to your apartment.”
Closer.
“I should never have pulled you into my life because I needed a convenient solution.”
Closer.
“And if I could go back to that night, I would change every one of those things.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“But?”
His eyes held mine.
“But I’d spend the rest of my life wondering why every room I walked into felt empty.”
My throat tightened.
“That’s disgustingly romantic.”
“I’ve had coaching.”
“From whom?”
“My interior designer.”
I smiled.
He reached into his pocket.
Then stopped.
I immediately pointed at him.
“No.”
He froze.
“You don’t know what I’m doing.”
“If another five-carat diamond appears, I’m throwing it into Lake Michigan.”
“First, that was Gideon’s mistake.”
“Coward.”
“Second, this isn’t five carats.”
He pulled out a small velvet box.
Inside was a simple oval diamond on a thin platinum band.
Elegant.
Quiet.
Nothing like the ring from our fake engagement.
I stared.
Lucian didn’t kneel.
I loved him for that.
He simply stood in front of me as an equal.
“No photographers,” he said. “No contract. No investors. No families watching. No reason to say yes except that you want to.”
My eyes filled.
“Lucian—”
“I spent most of my life believing love was another form of leverage. Something people used when fear wasn’t enough.”
His voice was unsteady now.
“I don’t believe that anymore.”
I couldn’t speak.
“You taught me that choosing someone isn’t the same as owning them.”
He took a breath.
“So choose freely.”
He opened his palm.
“If you want a life with me, I want one with you.”
I looked at the ring.
Then at him.
“What if I say no?”
“I’ll be miserable.”
“Good answer.”
“But I’ll respect it.”
That was the answer that mattered.
I took the ring from his palm.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Is that a yes?”
“No.”
His face fell.
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
“That’s me negotiating.”
Lucian stared.
Then laughed.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Yes.”
His forehead rested against mine.
“Definitely?”
“Yes.”
“Because your previous engagement history is concerning.”
I slapped his shoulder.
Unfortunately, it was the shoulder that had been shot.
He winced dramatically.
“Oh, please. You’re healed.”
“Emotionally, perhaps never.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
That stopped me.
Because he was right.
I was still there.
Not because I was trapped.
Not because of a contract.
Not because a frightened twenty-seven-year-old woman had accidentally typed one wrong digit on the worst night of her life.
I stayed because somewhere between the threats, the arguments, the ridiculous diamond, the burnt toast, the terrible choices, and the painful consequences, two deeply imperfect people had decided to become better than the lives they had been living.
Kyle had taught me that love without respect could make a beautiful future feel like a prison.
Lucian taught me something stranger.
A frightening man could change.
But only when he stopped demanding that everyone else believe he had changed and started accepting the cost of proving it.
And I had changed too.
The woman who sent that furious message had believed losing Kyle meant losing the future she deserved.
She had been wrong.
Sometimes the future you planned has to collapse before you notice it was built for someone you no longer are.
A year later, Lucian and I were married in a small ceremony outside Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
Thirty-two guests.
No reporters.
No politicians.
No business partners.
Gideon was best man.
Evelyn cried and denied it afterward.
My mother insisted on changing the flowers twice.
And when the officiant asked whether anyone objected, Gideon leaned toward me and whispered, “Still time to run.”
Lucian glared at him.
I laughed.
Then I took my husband’s hand.
There were no promises that our life would become ordinary.
It never did.
Lucian still carried consequences from the man he’d once been.
Trust came slowly.
Peace came slower.
But every morning, he woke up and chose the life he said he wanted.
A legitimate business.
A home full of noise.
Sunday dinners.
Burnt toast.
Eventually, two children who turned the twenty-two-thousand-square-foot penthouse into the least intimidating home in Chicago.
And every anniversary, at exactly 11:42 p.m., Lucian sends me the same text.
Wrong number?
Every year, I answer the same way.
F*ck you.
And every year, he replies:
Best mistake I ever answered.
THE END
