The bones were there, just as in his apartment. Thick walls. High ceilings. The kind of place that had been built to last, even if it had been neglected for a while.
The living room was bigger than I’d expected, the kitchen off to one side was dated—oak cabinets, tired laminate counters, a faucet that had seen better decades—but everything worked. I tested a cupboard door; the hinge squeaked but held.
The bathroom was clean but basic. Beige tile. A vanity that needed replacing. Grout that could be scrubbed back to white with a little effort.
Then the bedrooms.
The first was fine. Neutral. Plain. Wooden floors that needed sanding and polishing. The second—smaller, clearly an afterthought—was painted an aggressive sunshine yellow that made me blink.
“You weren’t lying about the yellow,” I said before I could stop myself.
Cole groaned. “I know. I was going to get it repainted. Eventually. It sort of… attacked me every time I opened the door, so I stopped opening the door.”
I smiled despite myself.
In my head, a list started forming. Patch the holes in the walls. Sand the skirting boards. Replace the cracked outlet cover. New handles for the kitchen cabinets. Paint—definitely paint. The yellow went first, and then I could make this one Gabbi’s room for however long we were here.
None of it felt overwhelming.
It felt doable.
“This would take some work,” I said.
“Yeah,” he agreed quickly. “Which is why—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t want this to feel weird, or like I’m… I don’t know. Buying something. So, here’s what I was thinking.”
I waited.
“I’ll cover the materials,” he said. “Paint. Bathroom stuff. Kitchen bits. Whatever you need to make it functional. You do the work—only what you want to do, at your pace—and we’ll call it even. No rent. No clock. No pressure.” He looked at me. “What do you think?”
Something in my chest loosened. Not all at once. Just enough to breathe.
“I think,” I said, “that I can do this.”
His smile was soft, careful, as if he didn’t want to spook the moment.
“Good,” he said. “Because I really wanted it to be yours to fix and live in for as long as you need to.”
For the first time, the thought of crossing Elena’s bridge from my past life to a new one didn’t terrify me.
It felt… possible.
SEVENTEEN
Cole
I boughtthe building next to Guardian Hall on a Tuesday.
Not because I needed it. Not because it was a smart addition to my portfolio. I already owned three properties within a six-block radius, all cleaner, all easier, all guaranteed to turn a profit without me losing sleep.
I bought it because I needed to do this for Guardian Hall, and for myself.
The building had been a warehouse once—brick and steel and stubborn bones, the kind of place that had seen industry come and go and refused to fall down out of spite. The sign out front was faded to illegibility, the windows were clouded with grime, and the loading bay sagged at one corner. The sale went through faster than I’d expected. Cash helped. So did not asking too many questions.
Within a week, I had builders and contractors inside.
Alex and Marcus didn’t know it was me at first, but I didn’t keep it a secret for long because I needed them to tell me what they needed. Upgraded medical facilities, more family space, and so much more I could give. There were no jackhammersat dawn. No blocked access. No chaos bleeding into Guardian Hall’s carefully managed calm.
This wasn’t about expansion.
