*Kiera*
I wake up to a soft voice crackling through the baby monitor on the bedside table, its faint sound pulling me from the depths of sleep. For a moment, I’m disoriented, blinking against the dim light filtering in through the curtains, trying to piece together where I am. The familiar scent of sandalwood and fresh linen slowly brings me back to reality, and I remember: I’m in Will’s penthouse, in the guest room, and that voice belongs to Frida.
She sounds upset, her voice rising and falling in a rhythm that is both sweet and anxious. “Onkel! Onkel!” she calls, the Danish words echoing in the stillness of the night… the rest I do not understand as it is also Danish. My heart tugs at the sound, and I quickly throw off the covers, knowing the little one might be feeling jet-lagged or p
