Chapter 4 - THE LION’S DEN
Chicago was blanketed in a thick, glittering layer of December snow when we landed. A fleet of black armored SUVs was waiting on the tarmac. As we drove toward the Hartwell Estate—a sprawling, gothic mansion on the North Shore—I felt a phantom ache in my chest.
The estate was ablaze with lights, luxury cars lining the circular driveway. The Christmas party was the social event of the year, packed with senators, tech moguls, and old money.
“Hold my hands, boys,” I said as my security detail opened the doors. The freezing wind whipped my scarlet silk gown around my legs. I wore no jewelry, save for a single pair of diamond drop earrings. I didn't need accessories to prove my worth anymore.
We walked up the grand stone steps. The massive oak doors were opened by a butler who visibly blanched when he saw me.
“Ms. Kingsley,” he stammered.
“Announce us,” I commanded.
We stepped into the grand ballroom. The chatter of three hundred elite guests bounced off the frescoed ceilings. Then, the butler’s voice rang out through the microphone.
“Ms. Norah Kingsley, CEO of Kingsley Hospitality... and guests.”
May you like
The silence was instantaneous. It rippled through the room like a shockwave. Glasses halted halfway to mouths. Heads turned. And there, standing at the base of the grand staircase, was Cole.
He was breathtaking. Broader, older, his jaw sharper, his tailored tuxedo fitting perfectly. The moment his gray eyes locked onto mine, the glass of bourbon in his hand slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor.
