Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Penthouse
The private elevator opened directly into the foyer of Ethan’s penthouse on the forty-fifth floor of the Riverfront Tower.
The apartment was a masterpiece of modern architecture—soaring twenty-foot ceilings, polished white marble floors, floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the twinkling lights of the Chicago skyline, and minimalist designer furniture that looked more like museum art than pieces meant to be lived in.
It was vast. It was quiet. And it was hopelessly cold.
Ruby stepped out of the elevator first, holding her small white rabbit tightly against her green wool coat. She took three steps onto the vast marble floor, her small boots making tiny click-clack sounds that echoed off the high glass walls.
She stopped, looking around the massive, open space with wide, uncertain eyes.
"Is this a castle?" Ruby whispered, her voice sounding small in the giant room.
Rachel stepped out behind her, wearing a soft grey sweater Ethan had bought her that afternoon. She looked around the apartment—at the multi-thousand-dollar paintings, the stainless steel kitchen, the grand piano sitting in the corner—and felt a familiar, ancient ache in her chest.
This was the skyline Ethan had promised her nine years ago. He owned it now. Every light outside that window seemed to reflect his immense power and wealth.
Ethan walked in behind them, carrying two small leather suitcases. He set them down by the door and looked at his home through their eyes.
For three years, this penthouse had been Lily's kingdom. But since her death three weeks ago, Ethan had viewed it not as a home, but as a glittering mausoleum filled with memories he couldn't touch without bleeding.
"It's just a place to sleep," Ethan said softly, walking over to Ruby and crouching beside her. "Do you want to see your room?"
Ruby looked at him timidly. "Is it big?"
"It's as big as you want it to be," Ethan smiled gently.
He led them down a wide, carpeted hallway to the east wing of the penthouse. He stopped in front of a white wooden door painted with small yellow daisies.
Ethan’s hand hovered over the brass doorknob for a long second. His chest tightened, a wave of familiar, crushing grief threatening to rise in his throat. This was Lily’s room. He hadn't opened this door since the morning the paramedics took her away.
Rachel saw his hand trembling. She stepped forward, gently laying her fingers over his knuckles.
"We don't have to go in if it hurts, Ethan," Rachel whispered softly.
Ethan looked at her dark, understanding eyes, took a deep breath, and turned the handle.
The door swung open silently.
The room was flooded with the warm, golden light of the setting sun filtering through the high windows. It was a child's paradise—a custom wooden canopy bed shaped like a fairytale cottage, walls painted with soft pastel clouds, shelves overflowing with books, stuffed animals, art supplies, and a small wooden easel holding a half-finished painting of a yellow dog.
It was exactly as Lily had left it.
Ruby stepped into the room slowly, her eyes wide with absolute wonder. She walked over to the wooden easel, reaching out one finger to touch the dry paint on the canvas.
"Who painted this?" Ruby asked quietly.
Ethan walked into the room, stopping beside the easel. A heavy tear escaped his eye, but his voice remained steady.
"Your sister," Ethan said softly. "Her name was Lily."
Ruby looked up at him, then at the bright, happy room, then at the stuffed animals sitting on the bed. She walked over to the canopy bed, touching the soft pink velvet blanket.
"Did she like painting?" Ruby asked.
"She loved it," Ethan replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "She used to get paint on her fingers, her nose, and my clean shirts every single Sunday."
A small, sad smile touched Rachel's lips as she stood in the doorway. "Just like her mother."
Ruby sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her white rabbit. She looked at Ethan, her serious gray-green eyes searching his face.
"Is Lily in heaven?" Ruby asked.
"Yes, baby," Ethan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "She is."
"Do you think she minds if I stay in her room?" Ruby asked, her voice filled with a profound, innocent sweetness that shattered every remaining wall in Ethan's heart. "I can sleep on the floor if she wants her bed."
Ethan pulled Ruby into his arms, burying his face in her soft hair, tears finally flowing freely down his cheeks.
"No, Ruby," Ethan sobbed gently, holding his daughter tightly against his chest. "She wants you to have her bed. She wants you to have her paints. She brought you to me so you would never have to sleep on the floor again."
Rachel walked over, sitting beside them on the wide velvet bed, wrapping her arms around both of them.
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In that quiet room filled with the ghost of a lost child and the living breath of a saved one, the cold glass tower on Lake Michigan stopped being a mausoleum.
It became a home.
