The Thorne estate looked more alive than it had in years. Christmas lights twinkled along the pavements and wrapped the old oak trees in the front drive, reflecting soft multicoloured glows across the snow-filled lawn.

Inside, faint instrumental holiday music drifted from hidden speakers—elegant, understated, the kind Eleanor approved of.

Grayson stood in his bedroom, open suitcase on the bed, tossing in a final pressed shirt with casual precision. He zipped it halfway, then reached for a charcoal overcoat draped over the chair.

Liam leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching him with a confused frown.

“You seem a little too excited to be travelling to Chicago,”

Liam said, “especially...