The car ride was silent. Damian didn't speak, didn't look at her. The driver—a bulky man with a stern face—navigated the sleek black vehicle through unfamiliar streets until they reached a gated mansion on the edge of the city.
The house was beautiful, almost like something out of a dream. Marble floors, gold fixtures, crystal chandeliers. Yet, it felt cold. Like a palace with no soul.
A small child's laugh echoed from the hallway.
Lily turned sharply.
A boy—maybe three or four—came running around the corner, chased by a young nanny.
"Careful, Mikhail!" the nanny scolded gently.
Mikhail?
Her heart stuttered.
The boy skidded to a stop when he saw her. His big gray eyes—so much like Damian's—widened. "Mama?"
Her breath caught.
She knelt instinctively, and he launched himself into her arms. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She held him, trembling. He was warm, real, his tiny arms wrapped tightly around her neck.
But she didn't remember him. Not his face. Not his voice. Not the feel of his hair beneath her fingers.
Tears sprang to her eyes. "Hi, baby," she whispered hoarsely. "I… I missed you."
Behind her, Damian watched—silent and unreadable.