Chapter 3 - A GILDED CAGE
Vincent Calder’s estate was a sprawling fortress of glass and black steel overlooking Lake Michigan, completely isolated from the city’s prying eyes. My quarters were larger than my entire old apartment, outfitted with a custom medical suite and a wardrobe filled with silk and cashmere that didn’t irritate my healing skin. For the first two weeks, it felt like a fever dream. I spent my days organizing the medical bay, treating minor lacerations for Vincent’s stoic, heavily tattooed security detail, and slowly regaining the mobility in my shoulder through grueling physical therapy.
Vincent was a ghost during the day, consumed by the violent empire he ruled. But every evening, exactly at eight, he would find me.
We sat in his expansive library, pouring over medical texts or playing chess in companionable silence. He never asked me to hide my scars. In fact, he seemed fascinated by them.
“They are proof of victory,” he told me one night, pouring me a glass of scotch that cost more than my first car. He was out of his suit coat, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the faint, jagged scar on his chest where I had operated on him years ago.
“They’re proof I was stupid,” I muttered, tracing the rim of my glass. “I gave everything for a man who couldn’t even look at me when it was over.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened. The sudden shift in his demeanor was terrifying—a fleeting glimpse of the ruthless predator the city feared. “Trevor Hayes is a coward. A weak man resents the strength of the woman who saved him. A strong man reveres it.”
He leaned across the table, his dark eyes intense, stripping away every defense I had spent the last four months building. “Do not confuse his weakness with your worth, Harper.”
Before I could respond, the library doors slammed open. It was Marcus, Vincent’s second-in-command, clutching his side. Blood poured through his fingers, staining the Persian rug.
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“Ambush,” Marcus gasped, collapsing to his knees.
Instinct overrode my hesitation. The burning in my shoulder vanished beneath a surge of adrenaline. “Get him on the table!” I barked at Vincent, no longer a broken woman, but the trauma nurse who had once saved the devil himself.
