Chapter 20
Chapter 20: An Open Horizon
The gala ended at 1:30 a.m.
I declined Ethan’s offer to have his private driver drop me off, preferring the quiet, isolated focus of my own Tesla as I drove back through the empty, snow-dusted streets of River North.
The city was completely silent, a frozen concrete maze sleeping under a blanket of midnight blue.
I parked in the private underground garage of my luxury condo building, grabbed my coat, and took the private elevator up to the penthouse suite—the very condo that Eleanor Caldwell had sneered at on the morning after my wedding.
When I stepped into my apartment, the motion-sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the minimalist, pristine white marble foyer.
Everything was in its perfect place. The quiet, expensive peace of a woman who had successfully destroyed her enemies and rebuilt her empire before dinner.
I tossed my keys onto the counter, walked over to the kitchen island, and poured myself a simple glass of water.
Then, I noticed it.
Sitting right in the center of my marble counter, perfectly aligned with the edge of the stove, was a small, white ceramic saucer.
On top of the saucer was a single, fresh, perfectly hot piece of breakfast pastry. A spinach quiche. Still steaming faintly in the cool air of the apartment, the scent of melted cheese and fresh herbs hitting my nose like a physical blow.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, the ice-cold adrenaline of survival flooding my veins instantly.
I didn't move. I didn't scream.
I slowly turned around, my eyes scanning the dark, shadowed corners of my open-concept living room.
The balcony door at the far end of the suite was unlocked, swinging open just an inch, letting a sharp, freezing gust of Chicago winter wind whistle through the gap, rustling the white sheer curtains like a ghost.
Beside the open balcony door, resting on the glass coffee table, was a small, handwritten note on heavy, cream-colored cardstock.
I walked over with slow, deliberate steps, my fingers trembling slightly as I picked up the card. The elegant, looping cursive handwriting belonged to someone I had thought was locked in a holding cell five thousand miles away.
“Dear Maya,
A good mother always remembers her family traditions. Preston is contained, yes. But an empire is never truly destroyed until the foundation is cleared.
I’m back in Chicago, darling. And tomorrow morning… we’re going to have breakfast.”
A floorboard creaked softly in the dark hallway behind me.
May you like
I closed my eyes for one brief second, a cold, lethal smile slowly appearing on my face as I reached into my coat pocket and gripped the heavy gold fountain pen.
I turned toward the shadow.
