Chapter 11 - The First Steps
Willa’s second birthday transformed the Manhattan penthouse into a vibrant playground of pastel balloons, ribbon streamers, and scattered wooden blocks. The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass, illuminating the space where twenty-four months earlier a terrified mother and a newborn had taken refuge in a cold, unfamiliar home.
Vincent knelt on the white marble floor, his tailored suit jacket discarded over a velvet armchair, while Willa chased a wind-up mechanical duck across the rug. Her dark, nearly black eyes—the unmistakable Hale eyes—shone with focused determination as she finally caught her toy and held it up with a triumphant giggle.
Sloan leaned against the kitchen island, a ceramic mug of coffee cradled in her hands, watching father and daughter with a soft, quiet smile.
“She’s walking entirely on her own now,” Sloan noted as Vincent caught Willa by the waist and hoisted her into the air, eliciting a shriek of delighted laughter. “You might want to invest in knee pads for the hallway.”
“Let her run,” Vincent said, setting the toddler gently back down before standing up to walk over to Sloan. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. “This is the part of the empire I missed out on the first time. I’m not spending a single second of it behind a desk if I don't have to.”
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Sloan leaned back against his solid chest, turning her head to press a brief, affectionate kiss to his cheek. “You’ve gone soft, Vincent Hale.”
“No,” he murmured, his arms tightening slightly around her waist. “I just finally figured out what’s actually worth protecting.”
