Chapter 8 - A New Dynasty
Six months later.
The private jet taxied smoothly down the runway at O’Hare International Airport—the very same airport where my life, and theirs, had irrevocably changed half a year ago.
This time, there was no panic. No abandoned children sitting on black plastic benches with terrified eyes.
Lily—now wearing a brand-new yellow winter coat with matching boots—walked hand-in-hand with me across the private tarmac, swinging our joined arms back and forth. Owen followed closely behind, proudly carrying a miniature briefcase filled with coloring books, snacks, and, of course, Barnaby.
“Are we going to Paris, Uncle Ryker?” Lily asked, looking up at me through long eyelashes, her bright blue eyes shining with excitement.
I corrected that title months ago, the day they officially signed the adoption papers in a private judge’s chambers downtown. They stopped calling me Mr. Steel and started calling me Dad. It took two months for my heart to stop skipping a beat every time I heard it.
“Not Paris, sweetheart,” I said, lifting her effortlessly into my arms as we reached the base of the private boarding stairs. “We’re going to our new summer home in Switzerland. Where the snow is deep, the hot chocolate is extra sweet, and nobody ever, ever leaves anyone behind.”
Owen scrambled up the stairs behind us, turning around at the top hatch to wave back at the sprawling skyline of Chicago.
“Bye-bye, O’Hare!” he shouted into the crisp winter wind.
I carried Lily inside the cabin, settling her into the plush leather seat beside her brother, fastening their safety belts with careful, practiced precision.
As the jet engines spooled up with a low, comfortable hum, I took my seat across from them, looking out the window as the terminal where I had first found them slowly faded into the distance.
Claire Sterling was currently serving a twenty-year sentence in a federal penitentiary. Viktor Vance was buried in a black-site database where his name would never surface again. The enemies of my family were gone, reduced to ash and footnotes in a legal ledger.
And here, soaring above the clouds, was the true victory.
Lily reached out across the aisle, sliding her small, warm hand into mine, exactly as she had done on that cold airport bench six months ago. Only this time, there was no fear in her grip. Just absolute, unbreakable trust.
May you like
I smiled, squeezing her tiny fingers back, and gave the pilot the only signal that mattered.
“Let’s fly home.”
