This time I let the giggle out—it was a small, incredulous sound—because in a way, he was right.
"It feels like magic," Axel said softly, his voice reverent.
Hilde reached out and touched the mirror, her fingers trembling as she watched her own reflection do the same. Something tightened in my chest. This wasn't just an elevator. This wasn't just a lift in a fancy hotel. This wasthe first moment—the very first—where I realized Gideon hadn't just rescued us.
He was giving us a new world.
A world with warmth and light and elevators and hope. The elevator came to a gentle stop. A soft chime sounded. The bellboy opened the doors. Warm golden light spilled in again, guiding us forward.
The bellboy led us toward another set of double doors, and when he opened them, more warm air rushed at me, and for a brief instant, I was transported back in time—back to when my father still worked at the firm, when Christmas meant tinsel instead of terror, when we could afford to dream.
The suite was… indescribable. High ceilings with crown molding like lace.
A chandelier dripping with crystal droplets. A sofa upholstered in deep emerald velvet. Carpets thick enough to drown your toes in.
Tentatively, the kids moved forward and put their toes on the carpet. Hilde giggled, and Axel jumped up and down. Klaus took his shoes and socks off and whooped. "It's like stepping on a cloud."
The other two followed his example. Gideon took my hand, and together we watched the mesmerized kids as they explored a room the likes of which they had never seen before.
A silver fruit bowl and tiny paper-wrapped mints stood on a big wooden table, and the kids rushed forward, like kids did on Christmas night. Just a foot before they reached the table, they stopped and, in unison, stared at Gideon and me. He squeezed my hand and waved them on, "Take what you like."
The children didn't need any further encouragement. Like starving animals, they fell over the fruit and mints.
The bellboy cleared his throat gently, the sound delicate, so he didn't interrupt the children's frenzy. "If you'll follow me, Fräulein… sir?"
Gideon gave him a nod. "Lead the way."
Klaus, Axel, and Hilde were too busy stuffing grapes and mints into their mouths—and pockets—to notice us stepping away. I didn't think I'd ever seen children eat fruit with such reverence, as if every bite might disappear if they didn't hold on to it. Only Gideon and I followed the bellboy deeper into the suite.
He opened a door on the right.
"This is the first bedroom," he announced softly.
I stepped inside and stopped cold. A bed. A real bed. Large, bright white, with pillows piled like clouds and a comforter so thick it looked sinful. A wardrobe with polished brass handles gleamed in the corner. A small writing desk with a lamp sat against the wall, and the light wasn't flickering or dim; it shone steady and warm.
My breath caught. Not because I hadn't seen luxury today—I had. My father's villa had been filled with polished wood, gleaming floors, and rooms designed to impress. Butthiswas different.
This room didn't feel like it was trying to prove something. It didn't loom over me with its perfection. It didn't press down on my ribs with velvet cages and gilded walls. It simply… existed.
Warm.
Clean.
Safe.
Untouched by the war in a way that felt gentle instead of threatening. The bellboy motioned to a second door farther down. "And here is the master bedroom, sir."
This one was even grander. A king-sized bed. Heavy velvet drapes. A balcony with wrought iron railings looking down over the Ku'damm. Another wardrobe. Another chandelier, smaller but still shimmering.
My fingertips brushed the banister on the balcony door. It was cold and smooth and perfect. A life I'd never thought I would see again.
The bellboy continued. "There is also a smaller water closet by the entryway, and—" He paused dramatically, then opened a third door. "—the main bath."
I gasped. It wasn't just a bathtub. It was palatial. Porcelain, deep enough to drown in. Two brass faucets. Arack with tiny glass bottles of bath salts and soap in shapes I hadn't seen since childhood. White towels stacked high like folded snow. A mirrored cabinet gleamed so brightly it reflected my stunned face with painful clarity.
"Oh… oh," I whispered, hand over my mouth. "It's… beautiful."
The bellboy didn't blink at my reaction. Maybe he was used to people like me, people who had gone without too long. He simply bowed his head. "If you need anything else, the front desk is available at all hours."
