2
Six Years Later
Karina
Everything about the hotel shouts expensive, from the crystal chandelier near the reception desk to the piano player enveloping the room in a warm array of tunes.
My sister had planned the entire night for me as a gift.
Ivy insisted that I take a vacation from my life and responsibilities for one night. On her dime, I was to be thoroughly pampered with full luxuries of the spa, room service, and anything else that I wanted.
Ivy is the most thoughtful, sensitive, and protective sister I know for a girl with a wild party side in her younger days. She’s also an amazing aunt to Ashton, my son.
The woman behind the desk hands me the room key and jots down the suite number before giving me directions to the elevator.
I didn’t bring much, just an overnight bag and my purse.
The hotel is considerably crowded for early fall.
Maybe there’s a convention happening in Chicago this weekend. I don’t have the slightest idea. My days are usually spent at work or looking after my little crime fighter, Ashton.
He wants to be a police officer when he gets older.
It’s cute, but the idea scares me. He’s five, and I’m hoping he’ll grow out of it.
I head into the elevator with a few other guests and glance down at the room number scribbled on the envelope for my key card.
I hit the button for the top floor and have to use my card to access the suite from the elevator.
Ivy booked the penthouse suite for me.
I can’t even fathom the cost, let alone how she managed to afford it on her measly salary. I love the girl, but she’s crazy. It’s not like I plan on spending my entire afternoon in the suite.
We stop on two floors before the elevator is empty, and I’m heading up to my suite. I lug my overnight bag over my shoulder and step out into the hallway.
There’s only one set of double doors and a black electronic card reader. I swipe my room card, and the lock clicks.
Grabbing the silver handle, I open the door and step inside the suite.
The door slams shut behind me.
The room is enormous, with picturesque windows from floor to ceiling. The curtains are pulled back to reveal the city down below.
I place my bag on the nearby sofa and step around the furniture.
On the floor in front of the couch is an oversized black duffel bag.
“Ivy?” I call out.
Did she decide to make a surprise visit with Ashton?
The bag is huge for an overnight adventure, but knowing my son, he’d insist on bringing every stuffed animal and truck in his toy box. Bending down, I unzip the duffel.
Male voices permeate the room through the walls.
Someone is in the bedroom, and by the sound of his voice, it’s not a young child or my sister.
My stomach flops.