Chapter 6 - The Lion's Den
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said, stepping backward until my legs hit the sofa where Chloe was still sleeping. I reached down, my hand gently resting on her small shoulder, ready to scoop her up and bolt through the emergency exit even if it meant running straight into a wall of armed enforcers.
Marcus Vance didn't flinch. He simply gestured to the two guards behind him, who stepped into the room, blocking the exit entirely.
"Natasha, let’s be entirely realistic," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a reasonable, persuasive tone that made my skin crawl. "You can make a scene, you can scream, you can call the local police—who, by the way, answer to a police chief whose pension fund is managed by a Carter shell corporation—or you can walk upstairs with your dignity intact."
"You drugged us into a corner," I hissed, keeping my voice low so Chloe wouldn't wake up terrified. "This is kidnapping."
"This is a family reunion," Marcus corrected smoothly. "Mr. Carter is currently resting in the executive penthouse suite on the twelfth floor. He is weak, he is recovering from major vascular surgery, and his doctor has explicitly ordered him to avoid strenuous activity. The last thing he needs is for the mother of his child to throw a hysterical tantrum in front of his medical staff."
"Hysterical?" I stepped forward, the fury overriding my terror. "I hid for eight years from a man who runs a criminal empire, and you call protecting my child 'hysterical'?"
"If Mr. Carter wanted you harmed, Natasha, you wouldn't have made it out of Madison in 2018," Marcus said, his eyes narrowing slightly, losing their veneer of politeness. "Instead, you lived in peace for nearly a decade because he gave strict standing orders across the entire Midwest: Find her, but do not touch her. He wanted you safe. He just didn't know you took his daughter with you."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
He wanted you safe.
For eight years, I had lived in mortal terror of the day David Carter’s shadow would fall across my doorstep. I had imagined him hunting me down with vengeance in his heart, punishing me for abandoning him. But the reality—that he had spent years looking for me not to destroy me, but because he still considered me his—was somehow infinitely more terrifying.
Chloe stirred beneath my hand, letting out a soft yawn and rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.
"Mommy?" she mumbled sleepily, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. "Are we going home now?"
My throat tightened. I knelt down, pulling her into my arms, pressing her face against my chest so she couldn't see Marcus or the guards blocking the door.
"Not quite yet, sweetie," I whispered, my voice cracking. "We're going to go see someone. A... a very important man who wants to say thank you for helping him."
Chloe pulled back, her big blue eyes looking up at me with innocent curiosity. "Is he the sick man?"
"Yes," I murmured, kissing her forehead. "Just stay close to me. No matter what happens, don't let go of my hand."
"Okay, Mommy," she promised, her tiny fingers wrapping securely around my thumb.
I stood up, holding her tightly against my hip, and glared at Marcus Vance. "Lead the way."
The private elevator reserved for the executive penthouse didn't stop at floors two through eleven. It rose swiftly, silently, bypassing the ordinary world of medicine and illness, climbing straight into the upper echelons of power.
When the doors slid open on the twelfth floor, the hospital aesthetic vanished entirely. The walls were paneled in dark, polished mahogany; the floors were covered in thick, plush Persian rugs that swallowed the sound of footsteps; and original oil paintings hung beneath subtle brass picture lights. It looked less like a hospital wing and more like a private, high-security corporate boardroom in downtown Chicago.
Two armed guards stood outside a set of double oak doors at the end of the hall. They nodded silently as Marcus approached, pushing the heavy doors open.
"Right this way," Marcus said.
I stepped across the threshold, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, holding Chloe so tightly she shifted uncomfortably against my hip.
May you like
The suite was vast, filled with leather armchairs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline of Chicago, and the faint, steady beep of a high-end cardiac monitor tucked away in the corner.
And sitting propped up against a pile of white goose-down pillows in the center of a massive hospital bed was David Carter.
