Chapter 3 - The Cold Walls Of The Lakefront Fortress
By midnight, the storm had fully rolled across Lake Michigan, battering the windows of the Lincoln Park brownstone. Vivian knew she couldn’t stay there forever. Dominic owned half the private surveillance networks in Cook County; his enforcers would track the brownstone within hours. If she wanted to leave him, she needed legal immunity, and that meant going back into the lion’s den to collect her passport, her personal inheritance documents, and her medical files.
When she arrived back at the Mercer lakefront estate at two in the morning, the heavy wrought-iron gates were already wide open. Three black SUVs were parked haphazardly along the circular driveway, their headlights cutting through the thick fog.
Vivian stepped through the massive oak front doors, bracing herself for a confrontation.
Instead of an empty foyer, she found Dominic standing beside the grand fireplace, an untouched glass of scotch sitting on the mantelpiece. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and his face was gray with exhaustion. Sitting across from him on the white leather sofa was not Brooke, but Arthur Callahan—Brooke’s father, an aging tycoon whose smile was sharper than a scalpel.
“Ah, the runaway bride returns,” Arthur chuckled, swirling ice in his glass without looking up. “Dominic, you really need to keep your woman on a shorter leash. Stress isn’t good for an heir, especially when that heir is meant to unite two dynasties.”
Vivian froze in the entryway, her hand dropping onto her stomach where the baby kicked in sudden distress. “What did you just say?”
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Dominic stood up abruptly, his expression darkening into pure fury as he glared at the older man. “Shut your mouth, Arthur. You got what you wanted tonight. Get out of my house before I have my men carry you out in pieces.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Dominic,” Arthur laughed, standing up and smoothing down his cashmere lapels. He turned to face Vivian, his cold blue eyes raking over her swollen figure with contempt. “Your husband forgot to mention a tiny detail, my dear. The thirty million dollars I’m pulling out isn’t just dock money. It’s the buyout clause on your marriage contract. My daughter Brooke isn't his mistress, Vivian. By next month, she’s taking your place as the legal Mrs. Mercer.”
