Chapter 4 - The Safehouse in the Heights
Within three hours of Vivien’s arrest, the media erupted into absolute madness. News outlets across the nation were broadcasting breaking updates: “Heiress Vivien Hale Arrested for Corporate Espionage and Treason,” and “Blackwood-Hale Engagement Shattered in Public Scandal.”
However, the real war was happening off the record.
Ronan knew that Julian Vance was a cornered animal. Vance was a ruthless operator who had built an underground syndicate under the guise of legitimate maritime shipping. With Vivien in federal custody, Vance’s entire operation was exposed to seizure unless he eliminated the source of the evidence: me.
At 2:00 PM, Ronan escorted me down to the underground garage of Blackwood Manor. Instead of his usual fleet of armored Maybachs, a non-descript, tinted black SUV waited in the shadows.
“Where are we going?” I asked, wrapping my coat tighter around myself as we walked through the chilly subterranean air.
“Somewhere Vance’s informants can’t reach,” Ronan replied, opening the passenger door for me himself instead of letting a bodyguard do it. “A private penthouse in Gold Coast. The title is held under an offshore shell company. Only three people in the world know it exists.”
“Are you staying there too?” I asked, looking up at him as he slid into the seat beside me.
“Do you think I’d leave you alone when a mob boss has a target on your head?” Ronan asked, his tone dry, but his gaze intense. “You’re under my protection, Ivy. That means wherever you are, I am.”
The drive through Chicago was tense. Marcus drove while another tactical guard watched the rear perimeter. Outside the tinted windows, the gray rain continued to pour over the city, mirroring the dark atmosphere inside the vehicle.
When we arrived at the Gold Coast high-rise, we bypassed the main lobby completely, taking a private service elevator straight to the top floor. The penthouse was massive, modern, and built like a fortress. Floor-to-ceiling reinforced ballistic glass overlooked the misty skyline of Lake Michigan.
“This entire floor is EMP-shielded and monitored by an independent AI security grid,” Ronan explained, walking toward a bar unit and pouring two glasses of sparkling water. He handed one to me. “You’ll be safe here.”
I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his. A sharp spark of electricity seemed to pass between us, making me look down quickly.
“Mr. Blackwood... why are you doing all of this for me?” I asked softly, sitting on the edge of a charcoal leather sofa. “You could have just handed the evidence to the police and let your security team handle Vance. You don't need to personally baby-sit a former maid.”
Ronan set his glass down on the glass coffee table and walked over to stand in front of me. He looked down at me, his tall, imposing figure casting a shadow across the room.
“Don't diminish yourself, Ivy,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep, mesmerizing tone. “You have more courage than every aristocrat who stood in that ballroom last night combined. You stood bleeding on my floor, looking a woman who held your entire life in her hands right in the eye, and refused to break.”
He leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of the sofa on either side of me, trapping me within his immediate space. The scent of his cedar wood cologne filled my senses.
“I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by people who wear masks,” Ronan whispered, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Vivien wore one. My business partners wear them. Even my family wore them. You’re the first real thing I’ve seen in this city in ten years.”
My breath caught in my throat. My heart pounded furiously against my ribs. “Ronan...”
Before he could respond, his encrypted satellite phone buzzed sharply against his hip, breaking the spell.
Ronan straightened up, pulling the phone out and answering it immediately. “Speak.”
I watched his face transform in real-time. The quiet intensity vanished, replaced by a expression of ice-cold fury.
“When?” Ronan asked the caller. A short pause followed. “How did they bypass the perimeter?”
He listened for another ten seconds before cutting the call. He looked at me, his eyes deadly serious.
“Vance just made his move,” Ronan said. “He didn't come for the penthouse. He just filed a legal seizure request against your mother’s home in suburban Chicago, using a falsified loan document your father supposedly signed before he died. He has men outside her house right now.”
May you like
I gasped, dropping my glass onto the rug. “My mother... oh God, no!”
“Get your coat,” Ronan commanded, his hand reaching out to grab mine, pulling me up instantly. “We’re going to show Julian Vance what happens when he touches something that belongs to me.”
