CHAPTER 3: A Warm Hearth in a Cold World
Julian’s private penthouse in the heart of the city was quiet, bathed in the soft orange glow of the late evening sun.
For the first time in months, Lily sat on a plush, warm sofa, wrapped in a fleece blanket. A warm bowl of soup rested on the table before her, steam rising gently into the air. She ate slowly, still clutching the small silver hairpin in her left hand, afraid that if she put it down, this dream would vanish.
Julian sat across from her, holding a hot cup of tea. He watched her every movement, overwhelmed by a deep, protective instinct he never knew he possessed.
""Tell me about your mommy, Lily,"" Julian asked gently.
Lily swallowed her soup and looked up, her big hazel eyes brightening slightly. ""Mommy was very pretty. She painted pictures of sunsets and mountains. But she was always coughing... and people in black suits used to come to our apartment and knock very loud.""
Julian’s jaw tightened. Black suits. That meant his father’s old business rivals—or perhaps members of the board who didn't want another heir to inherit the Chen legacy—had been hunting Clara until her final days.
""Did Mommy ever speak about a man named Arthur?"" Julian asked, referring to his late father.
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""She called him 'The King,'"" Lily smiled softly, a tiny dimple appearing on her cheek. ""She said The King was waiting for us in a big house with gardens, but the storm was too strong for us to go to him.""
Julian took a deep breath, pressing his lips together to hold back his tears. ""The storm is over now, Lily. I promise you.""
