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Mr. Alvarez did not hand the letter to Meredith. Instead, with a quiet, deliberate grace that defied the freezing air of the lobby, he took the blue-crayon envelope from Emily’s small hands and placed it inside a leather folio. / Chapter 8 / 10

Chapter 8 - The Morning Sun and the Pink CoatThe morning sun returned to Manhattan with the same cruel brightness, but inside penthouse 1401, the air felt warm, alive, and breathing for the first time in a decade.

Emily and Sophie woke up to the smell of warm pancakes, fresh strawberries, and hot chocolate with real whipped cream.

They sat at the massive dining table overlooking the city, their little legs dangling off the velvet chairs. They were dressed in brand-new, perfectly fitted cashmere sweaters and matching wool coats that Edward had flown in a private tailor from Fifth Avenue to measure while they slept.

Sophie held up a silver spoon, her eyes wide with wonder. "Daddy... is this real? Or are we dreaming?"

Edward walked over, kneeling beside their chairs just as he had done in the East Parlor hours before. He gently brushed a stray blonde curl from Sophie’s cheek, his eyes shining with a deep, unbreakable devotion.

"It's real, sweetheart," Edward said, his voice thick with emotion. "Every single bit of it. And we are never, ever going back."

Emily looked at him, her dark, serious eyes studying the billionaire's face. Slowly, a small, cautious smile broke across her lips—the exact same smile Clara used to wear when she played the piano.

"Can we go outside?" Emily asked. "We want to see the snow."

"You can do anything you want," Edward said, kissing the top of Emily’s head, then Sophie’s. "This entire city belongs to you now."

Just then, Mr. Alvarez appeared at the dining room threshold, holding a small, neatly folded object on a silver tray.

"Excuse me, Mr. Haynes," the doorman said respectfully. "I found this left behind by the fireplace in the East Parlor. I believe it belongs to the young ladies."

Edward looked down at the silver tray.

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