Chapter Seven

Rhys’s POV

I stood at the window of my corner suite on the forty-second floor, hands in my pockets, watching the city below move in its usual hurried rhythm.

Cars crawled along the avenues like ants, pedestrians streamed across crosswalks, and the late-afternoon sun cut long shadows between the buildings. It was the kind of view that used to ground me, a proof that everything kept turning, no matter what happened inside these walls. Lately, it just made me feel distant.

The last meeting of the day had wrapped twenty minutes ago. The deal was officially closed—signed, sealed, and funds transferred.

Hayes had texted the confirmation from the airport in Dar es Salaam: Done. You’re clear for the holidays. Go home.

I’d replied with a simple Thanks. Safe flight back. No more. No need for elaboration.

I turned from the window and crossed to my desk. The surface was unusually tidy—files stacked, laptop closed, Elena’s photo in its small silver frame catching the light. I picked it up for a moment, my thumb brushing the edge. Mirabel’s smile stared back at me from the background of the picture, they looked so much alike that someone could mistake Elena’s pictures for Mirabel. I set it down carefully, like it might break if I held it too long.

My phone vibrated on the leather blotter.

It was Mirabel. I answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” My voice came out softer than I intended. “How was the last exam?”

“It’s over. Thank God. I think I did okay. Alicia too—she looked like she might faint when the invigilator called time, but she powered through.”

I smiled despite myself. “Sounds like a win. You two packed?”

“Yep. Suitcases by the door. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning—should be there by lunch if traffic doesn’t hate us.”

“Let the driver come pick you guys, Mirabel.” I said calmly.

“No daddy, you don’t have to worry. We’ll order a ride, we’ll be safe. I promise.” She begged.

I really do not like the idea of them coming on a ride, but that’s what Mirabel wants. And I just have to allow her to ‘explore’, that’s what she calls it.

“Okay, be good, baby. Maria’s already prepping. She asked about your friend’s preferences again. I told her cinnamon everything.”

Mirabel laughed—that bright, unguarded sound that always eased something in my chest. “You’re the best. Alicia’s going to so much enjoy her holiday. She practically moaned when I was telling her things we have in the house.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Then I’ll make sure she has a good time. Anything else she needs? Extra pillows? Specific snacks?”

“You’re going full host mode already. She’s easy. Just don’t scare her with the brooding CEO stare on day one.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You do. But it’s cute. She’ll survive.” A pause, then her voice softened. “I’m excited to be home. I missed you so much, Daddy.”

“Missed you more.” The words came automatically, but they were true. “Drive safe. Text when you’re on the road.”

“Will do. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too.”

The line went quiet. I set the phone down and exhaled slowly.

My baby girl would be home in less than twenty-four hours.

I walked to the small bar cart in the corner, poured two fingers of scotch, and carried the glass back to the window. The amber liquid caught the dying light. I took a slow sip, and let the burn settle.

The house would be full soon. Laughter in the halls. Footsteps on the stairs. The smell of cinnamon and pine. Mirabel dragging her friend through every room like a tour guide, pointing out the things she loved most—the window seat in the library, the swing on the back porch, the spot by the pool where the lights hit the water just right at night.

I hadn’t had a guest in years. Not one who mattered.

I thought about the name again. Alicia. Sounds like a nice name.

It rolled around in my head like I was trying to memorize it. There was nothing special about it, it was a pretty simple name, but I could forget it. And I didn’t want to end up calling her Amelia or something. So I recalled and repeated things Mirabel had told me—Mirabel’s best friend. A university sophomore who read too much and apparently liked cinnamon.

I set the glass down untouched after the second sip. There was no point in dulling the edges tonight. Tomorrow would come fast enough.

I locked the office, took the private elevator down to the garage. The driver was waiting, engine idling. I slid into the back seat, and loosened my tie as the car pulled out into traffic.

The city lights blurred past the tinted windows. I leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.

I pictured the foyer tomorrow—Mirabel bursting through the door first, arms full of bags, calling my name before she even saw me. Her friend trailing behind, probably shy, probably polite. I’d shake her hand, say welcome, and show them to their rooms.

“It’s about to be my best holiday in a long time.”