Chapter 3

Emilia Norman POV:

Morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Boston penthouse as I walked off my red-eye flight and pushed open the master bedroom door. The air still carried the cold cedarwood cologne Bryant always wore.

I didn't bother opening the walk-in closet filled with expensive couture gowns his PR team had bought to dress me up when needed. Instead, I crouched down and pulled a battered black suitcase from the bottom drawer.

I packed only a few basic sweaters I had bought with my own money and my toiletries, leaving the jewelry boxes bearing the Norton family crest untouched on their velvet trays.

Walking over to the marble vanity, I looked at my pale, resolute face in the mirror and slowly slid the heavy seven-year anniversary diamond ring off my ring finger.

I set the diamond ring and the penthouse keycard side by side on the cold marble surface, pressing my Bruins staff pass underneath them without leaving a single note.

Dragging my suitcase into the living room, I passed Jaiden's closed bedroom door, which was covered in Bryant's hockey posters.

I stopped for three seconds, staring at the wood panels. Then I turned away without knocking and walked straight to the foyer.

As the private elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the gilded cage that had trapped me for seven years, my lungs expanded with a deep, easy breath.

Outside the building, I hailed a cab and headed to a quiet estate in the Boston suburbs—the private residence of my mentor, Dr. Christena Whitney.

After I rang the bell, the butler led me into the glass sunroom. Christena sat in a rattan chair, reading thick medical journals through her reading glasses.

I placed the sugar-free oat latte I had bought on the way onto her table.

"Professor, I'm back," I said quietly.

Christena looked up, her sharp eyes examining me over her rims.

"Seven years ago, you threw away a brilliant career in regenerative medicine to play housewife for a hockey player," she said sternly. "And now you just waltz back in?"

"It's fine, it's in the past," I said softly, offering no excuses. I reached into my bag, pulled out a basic data model on soft-tissue regeneration I had written on the plane last night, and slid it across the table. "I paid the price for that mistake. Now, I want to take back everything that belongs to 'Luna.'"

Christena's gaze fell on the equations. Her stern expression softened as she picked up the pages and read through them carefully.

Sighing, she took off her glasses and looked at me.

"Synapse Bio-Lab has kept your top-level clearance open all these years, Emilia. Come back and prove to the world that the genius hasn't rusted."

I nodded firmly, blinking back the sudden heat in my eyes.

Leaving the estate an hour later, I checked into a discreet business hotel downtown, sat at the desk, and logged into the Bruins' internal OA system on a new burner laptop.

Bryant Norton POV:

I rubbed my throbbing, hungover temples as I walked out of the bedroom of my Montreal hotel suite. Candice's welcome party had lasted until three in the morning.

Picking up my phone from the leather sofa, I glanced at the screen. It was completely blank. There was no customary good-morning text from Emilia, nor any nagging call asking when my flight back to Boston was landing.

I let out a cold laugh and tossed the phone back onto the table. She was obviously throwing a tantrum because she saw me with Candice and Jaiden yesterday.

A knock sounded at the door, and my personal assistant stepped in with today's schedule.

"Mr. Norton," the assistant said cautiously, "stadium security mentioned that Mrs. Norton came by the Bell Centre VIP corridor last night."

My hands paused while tying my silk tie. My brows furrowed slightly before my face hardened.

"Leave her alone," I said dismissively. "With her docile temper, she'll get over it in a couple of days."

"Should we send someone to check on her?"

"Order a limited-edition diamond necklace from Tiffany's and have it delivered to the penthouse," I instructed, buttoning my cuffs. "That'll be enough to make up for her little grievance when I get back."

The assistant hesitated, looking down at his tablet.

"Sir, the nanny called earlier saying Mrs. Norton isn't at the penthouse, and her personal phone has been turned off since midnight."

Irritation flared in my chest. I pinched the bridge of my nose, my voice dropping an octave.

"I don't have time for her tantrums. Freeze all her supplementary credit cards immediately. Let's see how long a housewife with no income can last outside on her own."

Grabbing my suit jacket, I strode out the suite door toward the training rink.