Chapter 8 - The Velvet Cage
Three days after Grant Mercer was physically and professionally unceremoniously ejected from Moretti Tower, the fifty-first floor had undergone a quiet, seismic shift.
Norah Hail no longer wore the black-and-white cotton maid’s uniform.
Instead, she stood in the center of a sprawling, glass-walled dressing room attached to Dante’s private suite, staring in disbelief at a row of custom-tailored silk dresses hanging in the illuminated wardrobe. Next to them sat a stack of leather-bound notebooks and a brand-new, top-of-the-line laptop resting on a mahogany writing desk overlooking the lake.
She wasn't a prisoner—she was free to walk out of the tower whenever she pleased—yet she was surrounded by a level of protection and luxury that felt entirely surreal. Armed guards rotated quietly in the private hallway; Marco personally checked the security logs every four hours; and Dante... Dante checked in on her every evening with the quiet, devastating intensity of a man who refused to let her out of his sight for long.
A soft knock sounded at the double doors.
“Come in,” Norah said.
Marco pushed the door open, stepping into the room with a polite, respectful nod. He was holding a heavy manila envelope bearing the red-wax seal of the Moretti family crest.
“Miss Hail,” Marco said smoothly. “Mr. Moretti asked me to deliver this to you personally.”
Norah took the envelope, her fingers brushing the cool wax seal. She slid the flap open and pulled out a single legal document. Her eyes scanned the first few lines, and her breath caught in her throat.
It was a full release of her aunt’s family bookstore debt, paid in full directly to the municipal bank, alongside a clear title deed transferring absolute ownership of the property back to her family free and clear. Below it was a signed restraining order prohibiting Grant Mercer from coming within five miles of her or her family forever.
“He... he didn't have to do this,” Norah whispered, her eyes stinging with sudden tears.
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“Mr. Moretti does not do things by halves,” Marco replied, a faint, approving ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “He told me this morning that an empire is worthless if you cannot protect the only thing in it that matters.”
Marco turned and walked toward the door, pausing just before he left. “Dinner will be served on the terrace in thirty minutes, Miss Hail. He’s waiting for you.”
