Chapter 9 - COMING HOME
Three weeks later.
The morning sun washed over the master bedroom of a beautiful, light-filled craftsman home in Evanston—not the dark, fortress-like estate where Vincent and I used to live, but a quiet, peaceful house surrounded by oak trees and a garden, located just three blocks from the lake.
Vincent had purchased the house and had it fully renovated while Jasmine was in the hospital, ensuring it was safe, bright, and completely free of the shadows of his past.
I stood by the window, cradling five-pound Jasmine in my arms. She was wearing a tiny yellow onesie, her dark eyes looking curiously at the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
The bedroom door opened, and Vincent walked in carrying a tray with fresh fruit, tea, and warm toast.
He wore a simple sweater and jeans—no charcoal suits, no gun holsters, no heavy gold rings. He looked relaxed, younger, and happier than I had ever seen him.
“How is our girl doing?” he asked, setting the tray down on the bedside table.
“She just finished her bottle,” I smiled, stepping closer to him. “She’s ready for her morning nap.”
Vincent reached out, taking Jasmine gently into his broad arms. He rocked her softly, humming a low tune as her little eyes grew heavy and her head rested against his shoulder.
I watched them together, feeling a deep warmth spread through my chest. The pain of the last six months hadn't completely disappeared, but it was fading day by day, replaced by the steady, quiet actions of a man who spent every hour proving his devotion to us.
Vincent laid Jasmine down in the wooden crib beside our bed, tucking a soft blanket around her tiny shoulders.
He turned back to me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head against his chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat.
“Thank you,” Vincent murmured into my hair.
“For what?”
“For giving me a second chance,” he said softly, his arms tightening around me. “For letting me be a father to our daughter.”
May you like
I pulled back slightly, looking up into his dark eyes. “You earned it, Vincent. You walked away from an empire for us.”
“That wasn't an empire,” Vincent said, kissing my forehead gently. “This house... you... Jasmine... this is my real empire.”
