She held on so tightly that guilt immediately tightened my chest.
My younger daughter, Sofia, was six.
She grabbed my hand.
“Do you really have to leave again, Daddy?”
I forced myself to smile.
“It’s an important business meeting in Toronto, sweetheart.”
That was a lie.
There was no meeting.
My private jet was never going to leave the ground.
I hadn’t reserved a hotel.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Forty-five minutes after my SUV passed through the iron gates of our Bel-Air estate, I quietly returned through a service entrance with Hector, the head of my private security team.
Nobody inside the house knew I was back.
Especially Chloe.
My fiancée.
The woman I was supposed to marry in three months.
