Chapter 5: The Suburban Quiet
The key turned in the lock of the suburban townhouse with a heavy, satisfying click. It was a modest brick property tucked away on a quiet maple-lined street three miles from the foundation tower—a place I had bought years ago as an investment and rarely visited. The interior smelled of old cedar and clean dust, untouched by high-society pretense.
Lily walked through the front door slowly, her sneakers making soft scuff marks on the hardwood entryway. She looked around the small living room, taking in the stone fireplace, the simple beige sofa, and the large bay window that looked out onto a green lawn instead of a concrete metropolis.
"Is this where we live now?" she asked, looking up at me as I set our small overnight bags down by the coat rack.
"For a while," I said, offering a small, reassuring smile as I knelt down beside her. "Just you and me, Lily. No board members, no late-night dinners with people who forget how to talk to children."
A genuine, relaxed smile finally touched the corners of her mouth—the first real one I had seen since we left the penthouse. "Can we paint?"
"We can do whatever you want," I replied, standing up and rolling my sleeves down. "First, let's see what's in the kitchen."
The kitchen was compact, fitted with white tile and a wooden counter that showed slight wear around the edges. I found a carton of eggs in the small refrigerator and a loaf of bread in the pantry. Within twenty minutes, the small kitchen smelled of butter and toast. Lily stood on a wooden step stool beside me, helping me flip scrambled eggs with a plastic spatula, her dark hair falling forward over her shoulders.
For the first time in months, the heavy knot in my chest loosened. Here, away from the glass and steel of the penthouse, the air felt breathable. We sat at the small round wooden table by the window, eating off simple ceramic plates that didn't require matching silverware or formal etiquette.
Just as I poured myself a second cup of coffee, my mobile phone buzzed sharply against the wooden tabletop. The screen lit up with Victoria's name. I looked at it for a long, silent moment, watching the digital letters glow against the glass before turning the phone face down.
May you like
Lily looked up from her plate, her dark eyes questioning.
"Just a wrong number," I said softly, reaching across the table to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Eat your eggs, Lily. We have a whole weekend ahead of us."
