Chapter 6 - Ghosts of the North Shore
The town house on the North Shore stood like a silent fortress against the crashing waves of Lake Michigan. Surrounded by wrought-iron fencing and dense stands of ancient oaks, the stone structure looked less like a modern luxury home and more like a European estate dropped secretly onto the American coastline.
When Luca’s black town car rolled through the security gates, Nora pressed her face against the cold glass, watching the dark, rolling expanse of the lake disappear into the stormy horizon.
“Arthur will be waiting inside,” Luca said quietly as the car came to a smooth halt beneath the grand portico. “He’s managed this house for twenty years. If you need anything—medical supplies, clothes, absolute quiet—he will provide it without asking questions.”
Inside, the house was a masterclass in understated power. Dark wood paneling, glowing fireplaces, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the heavy scent of old paper and cedarwood filled the air. Arthur, an elderly man with silver hair and an impeccably tailored dark suit, greeted them at the door with a calm, practiced grace that immediately put Nora at ease.
“Welcome to the house, Miss Caldwell,” Arthur said, his voice smooth and respectful. “Or... whatever name you prefer to use while you are here.”
“Just Nora is fine, Arthur,” she murmured, clutching Luca’s dark coat around her shoulders.
“Your rooms are prepared on the second floor, overlooking the water,” Arthur nodded, stepping back to allow them entry. “I’ve also had a private physician on retainer briefed to arrive at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to check on your vitals. Given the stress of the past twenty-four hours, a proper medical evaluation is non-negotiable.”
Nora stopped dead in her tracks, turning to look at Luca in sheer astonishment. “You already arranged a doctor?”
“You’re pregnant, exhausted, and running on pure trauma,” Luca said matter-of-factly, shrugging off his suit jacket as he handed it to Arthur. “I don't leave logistics to chance.”
“Thank you,” Nora whispered, the words catching in her throat because they felt too small for the magnitude of what he was doing.
“Get some sleep, Nora,” Luca said softly, his gray eyes lingering on her face for a long, charged moment before he turned toward his private study down the hall. “Tomorrow, the real work begins. Because by sunrise, Preston Caldwell is going to realize his wife didn't just run away—she took his leverage with her.”
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True to his word, miles away in the Gold Coast penthouse, Preston stood in the middle of a ransacked study, smashing a crystal whiskey glass against the wall as his father’s chief legal counsel listened on speakerphone.
“Find her,” Preston roared, his face twisted in psychotic fury. “Find her, freeze every account she touches, and tear her apart piece by piece. Nobody walks away from a Caldwell.”
