Chapter 3 - The Apartment on Maple Street
The double doors of the ballroom slammed open, but it wasn't Victoria who fled. It was Daniel.
He didn't care about the guests murmuring in shock. He didn't care about the three-million-dollar catering bill, the ruined flowers, or the society columnists frantically typing notes into their own phones. He scooped Lily up into his arms, ignoring the way her small weight pressed against his custom tuxedo jacket, and strode down the white-carpeted aisle as if walking through fire.
“Daniel! You cannot walk out of here!” Victoria screamed, lunging after him, but Marcus, Daniel’s head of security, stepped smoothly into her path, blocking her with the immovable mass of a concrete pillar.
“Step aside, Ms. Vance,” Marcus said coldly. “The groom has left the building.”
Within minutes, Daniel’s black armored Maybach was tearing through the downtown traffic, its engine roaring as Marcus navigated the streets toward the address Lily had whispered in the back seat: 412 Maple Street, Apartment 3B.
During the ride, Lily had finally stopped crying. She sat in a booster seat Marcus had hastily adjusted, munching quietly on a juice box Daniel had fetched from the hotel pantry, her thumb occasionally tracing the edge of her plush rabbit’s ear.
“Is Mommy going to be mad I showed him the phone?” Lily asked softly, her big eyes looking up at Daniel through the rearview mirror.
“No, sweetheart,” Daniel said, his voice thick with emotion. “Mommy won't be mad at all. You were very, very brave. You’re a hero, Lily.”
“A hero?” A small, gap-toothed smile broke across her face.
“The best kind,” Daniel murmured.
When the car pulled up to the faded red-brick apartment building on Maple Street, Daniel was out the door before Marcus could even shift into park. He didn't wait for an elevator. He took the concrete stairs three at a time, his polished leather shoes pounding against the steps until he reached the third landing.
Apartment 3B.
The door was painted a dull, peeling shade of green. A small brass knocker hung crookedly in the center.
Daniel didn't bother knocking. He raised his fist and pounded against the wood with a force that rattled the frame.
“Emma!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Emma, open the door! It’s Daniel!”
For five agonizing seconds, there was only silence from the other side. Then, a faint sound drifted through the wood—a muffled cough, followed by the slow, shuffling scrape of someone dragging themselves across a hardwood floor.
The deadbolt turned with a dry, metallic click.
The door swung inward six inches, held back by a brass security chain.
Through the narrow gap, Daniel saw her.
The breath instantly left his lungs. The world stopped spinning.
Emma Carter.
She looked devastatingly fragile. Her dark hair, once long and vibrant, was cropped short and clung damply to her pale forehead. Her skin had the translucent pallor of someone who had spent weeks fighting a losing battle against a heavy fever. But it was her eyes—those luminous, striking hazel eyes—that locked onto his with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock.
“Daniel…” she breathed, her voice a dry, rasping whisper that sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement.
“Emma,” he choked out, the word tearing past his throat like glass. He raised his hand, his fingers curling around the edge of the door, trembling violently. “Oh, God... Emma, you’re alive.”
“You... you shouldn't be here,” she whispered, her head swaying slightly as if she were on the verge of fainting. “She... she said she would keep Lily safe if I stayed away... she said you were happy...”
“Who, Emma? Who said that?” Daniel demanded, his voice rising in panic as he saw how weak she looked. He threw his weight against the door, snapping the brass chain from the molding with a sharp crack that echoed down the hallway.
The door flew open.
Emma staggered backward, her knees buckling beneath her. Before she could hit the floor, Daniel crossed the small entryway in a single bound, catching her in his arms.
May you like
She felt impossibly light, like a bird made of paper and dry twigs. She was wearing an oversized cotton bathrobe, and as Daniel pulled her against his chest, he felt the sharp, rigid outline of her ribs through the fabric.
“I’ve got you,” Daniel wept, burying his face in her damp hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of lavender and old books that he had mourned in silence for six years. “I’ve got you, Emma. You’re safe.”
