Chapter 3 - The Morning Sugar|
At six o'clock the next morning, the sun broke over Lake Michigan, painting the sky in pale shades of gold and amber.
I stood in the sunlit kitchen of our mansion, wearing a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. The smell of fresh espresso filled the quiet room.
I poured two cups. One black. One with a single splash of oat milk.
I set the tray down on the island just as light footsteps sounded on the hardwood stairs.
Alina walked into the kitchen, wearing a simple cream cashmere sweater and gray trousers. Her dark eyes were slightly red, her skin pale, carrying the silent fatigue of a woman who hadn't slept a wink.
When she saw me standing by the counter, she froze, her hand resting on the doorway frame.
"Dante," she murmured, her voice soft and careful, instantly adopting that polite, guarded tone she used whenever we were in the same room. "I... I thought you had an early meeting at the boardroom."
"I canceled it," I said quietly.
She blinked, surprised. She looked down at the marble counter, her eyes landing on the two coffee cups, then at the empty space where my leather briefcase usually sat.
"Where are the papers?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her knuckles turning white against her trousers. "Your lawyer said you would have them signed by eight."
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I picked up my cup, took a slow sip, and set it back down with a quiet click.
"There are no papers, Alina," I said softly.
