Chapter 2 - The House of Ghosts
The limousine ride back to the Sterling estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, was an exercise in absolute, suffocating silence.
The girls had fallen asleep within ten minutes, exhausted by the flight and the strange, tense energy of the adults, their small heads resting comfortably against Grace’s lap in the back of the spacious vehicle. Grace stroked Lily’s soft curls, staring straight ahead through the tinted glass at the flashing red taillights of the highway.
Nathan sat across from her. He hadn't said a single word since they left the airport. He had ordered Evelyn Vance to be locked out of all Sterling properties, her accounts frozen, her corporate credentials revoked before the car even pulled away from the curb—a swift, brutal execution of corporate justice that proved why men like Nathan Sterling ruled Wall Street. But justice didn't fix the past. Nothing could fix the past.
The car turned through the massive wrought-iron gates of the Sterling Manor—a sprawling limestone mansion surrounded by ten acres of manicured lawns and dark pine trees. It was the same house Grace had fled five years ago in the middle of a freezing November night, wrapped in a borrowed coat, bleeding and broken, believing her children were dead in a hospital basement.
The vehicle glided to a halt under the grand portico.
Nathan’s driver hurried to open the door, but Nathan waved him away. He opened it himself, the cold night air rushing into the cabin.
"Grace," Nathan said softly, his voice rough and unsteady. "Let me carry them."
Grace looked down at her sleeping daughters, then up at Nathan. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, the impeccable billionaire facade completely shattered. She didn't trust him—not yet, perhaps not ever again—but the girls were heavy, and her arms ached.
"Just Lily," Grace said quietly, easing the sleeping five-year-old into Nathan’s outstretched arms.
Nathan’s arms shook as he took his daughter. He cradled her awkwardly at first, like a man holding a fragile, priceless artifact he knew he didn't deserve to touch, before instinct took over. A thick, strangled sob broke from his chest as Lily instinctively shifted, burying her face into the crook of his expensive cashmere sweater and murmuring something about a teddy bear.
"I'm here," Nathan whispered against her hair, tears spilling over his lashes and tracking down his sharp cheekbones. "Daddy’s here. I'm so sorry, baby girl. I'm so sorry."
Inside the grand foyer, the crystal chandelier cast a brilliant, glittering light over the marble floor—the exact same floor Grace had slipped on the day his mother had humiliated her for not coming from "proper stock."
Head housekeeper Mrs. Gable—an elderly woman with kind eyes and a spine of steel who had served the Sterling family for forty years—rushed out from the back hallway, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw Nathan carrying a child, followed by Grace carrying two more, looking like an apparition from a ghost story she thought had ended in tragedy.
"Good Lord in heaven," Mrs. Gable breathed, her hands flying to her mouth. "Mr. Nathan... are those—?"
"They're my daughters, Mrs. Gable," Nathan said, his voice hard as iron, though his eyes were wet. "Prepare the east wing suites immediately. The master suites. Turn on all the heaters, get the chef to prepare warm milk and soup, and call Dr. Harrison. Tell him to get his ass up here tonight."
"Right away, sir," Mrs. Gable said, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked at Grace. She didn't ask questions. She simply stepped forward, gently taking Maya from Grace’s arms. "Welcome home, Mrs. Sterling."
May you like
"I'm not Mrs. Sterling, Mrs. Gable," Grace corrected softly, though there was no malice in her voice. "Not anymore."
Nathan didn't argue. He led them up the sweeping curved staircase, carrying Lily down the familiar hallway toward rooms that had sat empty for half a decade—rooms that Nathan’s mother had ordered kept locked, dusted only by ghosts and regret.
