Prologue

Daniella

Someone once told me that Chicago never sleeps and I feel it more tonight than ever before.

The city is alive with energy, a ceaseless rhythm that hums through its streets and alleys.

I can feel the energy pulsing beneath my feet as I walk and Jeremy’s hand is warm in mine. We’re heading home from our favorite spot by the marina, where we often go to escape the frenzy of our lives. Tonight, everything feels perfect.

I glance at Jeremy, his profile sharp against the moonlit sky. There’s a confidence about him, a quiet strength that drew me in from the moment we met. He catches me staring at him and flashes me that smile I’ve come to love, the one that reaches his eyes and crinkles at the corners.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says, squeezing my hand.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

He stops walking, turning to face me fully. “I’m the lucky one, Daniella. Every day with you feels like a dream.”

The words are cliché, but coming from him, they’re a balm to my soul. We continue walking and I lean into him, soaking in the warmth and comfort he provides.

We talk about our future, our plans to travel and the house we want to buy. It all seems so close, so within reach.

His finger traces the ring on mine, and we smile. It’s been a few weeks since I said yes, and the whole thing still feels like a dream.

Sometimes, I worry I’ll wake up one day and it will all have been just that…a dream.

As we near our little house, Jeremy’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowning. “It’s work,” he says, pulling me in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

I nod, watching as he walks away, phone to his ear. I’ve always admired his dedication, the way he throws himself into everything he does. But tonight, there’s a flicker of uneasiness in my chest. Something feels off, though I can’t quite place it.

Inside our apartment, I change into my pajamas, trying to shake off the feeling. I pour myself a glass of wine and curl up on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly. Minutes turn into an hour, then two and still Jeremy hasn’t come back.

I call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. My unease grows into a gnawing worry. This isn’t like him. I try to distract myself, but the silence of our home feels oppressive, each tick of the clock is amplifying my anxiety.

After a while I fall asleep.