Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE WITH NO FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS
Three days later, Julian called.
I was sitting beside my mother's hospital bed.
She was asleep.
An IV line ran into her arm.
The monitor beeped steadily.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Hello?”
“Lena.”
I recognized his voice immediately.
“Mr. Vale.”
“Julian.”
I smiled faintly.
“Julian.”
He hesitated.
“I wanted to ask whether your mother received the foundation's information.”
I looked down at the folder in my hand.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
He paused.
Then said:
“Would you have dinner with me?”
I froze.
“What?”
“Dinner.”
I looked toward my mother's room.
“Why?”
His voice softened.
“Because I'd like to get to know you without a clock counting down.”
My heart tightened.
I smiled.
“That's a better proposal.”
He laughed quietly.
“I'm learning.”
I agreed.
The following evening, he invited me to his Manhattan townhouse.
It was enormous.
Beautiful.
And strangely empty.
There were paintings.
Sculptures.
Expensive furniture.
But no family photographs.
I looked around.
“Where are the pictures?”
Julian frowned.
“What pictures?”
“Your family.”
His expression changed.
Then he looked toward the fireplace.
“I took them down after Nicholas disappeared.”
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My heart tightened.
For the first time, I understood that wealth could make a house beautiful without making it feel like home.
