When Logan said ‘apartment,’ I pictured a high-rise. Maybe something sleek and modern in the Loop, or a converted loft in the West Loop. Something that screamed tech billionaire with minimalist taste.
What I’m looking at is a three-story Victorian mansion in Lincoln Park, complete with a wraparound porch, carved stonework, and the kind of manicured hedges that require a full-time gardener. It looks like something out of a period drama—the kind of place where people drink sherry and discuss inheritances.
“I thought you had an apartment,” I say, staring up at it through the windshield of his Lucid Air.
“I do.” Logan pulls into the curved driveway and parks. “In that.”
“That’s not an apartment building. That’s a house. A very large, very old, very expensive house.”
“It’s one of the family estates. I have my own space on the second floor. Separate entrance, separate everything. My parents use the rest of the house when they’re in town.”
“Just one of the family estates? You have plural estates?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that I was having dinner at Downton Abbey before now?”
He cuts the engine and turns to face me. In the fading evening light, he looks tired. Nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact.
“I didn’t really know how to explain it,” he admits. “It’s... complicated.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” He reaches over and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “I promise I’ll explain everything. But first, let me show you my space. Before we go downstairs.”
I want to demand answers now, but there’s something in his expression that makes me hold back. A vulnerability I’m not used to seeing from him.
“OK,” I say. “Show me where you live.”
His apartment is accessed through a side entrance—a separate door with its own security system, completely independent from the main house. The moment we climb the stairs and step inside, I understand why he calls it his.
It’s nothing like what I imagined.
The space is warm and lived-in, full of books and plants and the kind of comfortable clutter that accumulates when someone actually uses a space instead of just existing in it. There’s a worn leather couch facing a massive window that overlooks the back garden. A kitchen with actual cooking supplies, not just the decorative kind. Art on the walls that looks chosen for love rather than investment value.
“This is yours,” I say, and it’s not a question.
“This is mine.” He’s watching me take it in, something hopeful in his expression. “I had it built out when I was twenty-five. Separate HVAC, separate utilities, separate entrance. The only thing we share is the property line.”
“You built yourself a sanctuary.”
“I built myself a life they couldn’t touch.” He moves to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. “They have access to the rest of the house—the main floors, the formal rooms. But they can’t come in here. This door stays locked to everyone but me.”
“And now, me.”
He pauses, bottle in hand, and looks at me. “And now, you.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tight. Like he’s letting me past more than just a door.
He pours the wine and hands me a glass, then gestures toward the couch. We settle in together, my legs curled under me, his arm around my shoulders. For a moment, we just sit in the quiet, looking out at the garden as the last light fades from the sky.
“Tell me what I’m walking into,” I say finally. “I want to be prepared.”
Logan takes a long breath. “My mother’s name is Caroline. She comes from a family that used to have money but lost most of it two generations ago. She married my father because he had the name and the status she wanted. Everything she does is about maintaining appearances—the right clothes, the right friends, the right way of speaking. She’ll be polite to your face, but every word will be a test. She’ll be looking for weaknesses.”
“And your father?”
“Edmund.” The name comes out flat. “He’s... quieter. More subtle. My mother attacks from the front. My father flanks. He’ll ask questions that seem innocent but are designed to make youfeel small. He’s spent his entire life making people feel like they don’t measure up, and he’s very, very good at it.”
