The mansion was colder today, or maybe it just felt that way.
Jenna sat on the edge of her bed—her bed, not the one down the hall where Ryker slept. She’d never moved into the master bedroom, even after he tried to get her to. That space felt like it belonged to another version of her—one who believed in genuine love and not betrayals.
She looked around her not-so-small and exotic room. It felt awfully different today, but one thing was sure: She was done crying over him.
Her stomach tightened. The babies stirred faintly, and she instinctively laid a hand over her bump.
The knock on the door came too late—Mrs. Anderson walked in without waiting, holding a pile of folded towels.
“They’re bringing another wardrobe into the guest suite,” the old lady said, her voice clipped. “You might
