It was almost eight in the evening when we finally pulled up the driveway to Jaxon’s mansion, a magnificent three-story brownstone building with white columns supporting the porch, white window frames, and old crooked trees on the front lawn. Jaxon parked in one of the double garages on the left.

He got out and opened the door for me. My stomach hollowed with nerves. This was my home now, and soon I’d meet the children I’d raise. Jaxon ’s hand found its place on my lower back again as he led me toward the magnificent white front door. Someone from his staff had gathered my belongings in the morning and...