Chapter 5 - Unearthing the Past
The master suite was a sprawling chamber of dark walnut wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a massive stone fireplace where a low, crackling fire was already burning. French doors opened onto a private balcony overlooking the dark, whispering expanse of Lake Michigan below.
Arthur the butler arrived ten minutes later with a crystal decanter of red wine and two glasses, setting them on the mahogany desk before bowing quietly and slipping out of the room.
Vivian stood by the window, holding her glass of wine, watching the rain beat against the glass. The reality of the evening was finally catching up to her. Twenty-four hours ago, she was an obedient corporate fiancée planning a wedding she secretly dreaded. Now, she was an exile living in the fortified estate of a legendary Chicago underworld figure who happened to be offering her a multi-million-dollar foundation job and shelter from an unfolding federal scandal.
“You’re thinking about the ring,” Dominic’s voice broke the quiet.
She turned around. He had removed his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, corded muscle and a web of faint, jagged scars across his wrist—reminders of a life far more violent than the polite boardrooms of Michigan Avenue.
“I’m thinking about how stupid I was,” Vivian said honestly, setting her glass down on the desk. “I saw the signs for months, Dominic. The late nights, the canceled dinners, the way Maribel always happened to be at our house whenever Nathan was working late. I made excuses for both of them because I wanted stability. I wanted a normal life.”
Dominic walked over, stopping just a few feet away. The air between them felt heavy, charged with a strange, magnetic gravity that had nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with recognition.
“Normal is a myth invented by people who have never had to fight to survive,” Dominic said quietly. “Your sister and your ex-fiancé operate in a world of shallow ledgers and stolen credit. They take what looks shiny because they’re terrified of looking empty inside.”
“And you?” Vivian challenged softly, looking up into his dark, scarred face. “What do you take, Dominic?”
He didn’t answer right away. His dark eyes traveled over her face—tracing the sharp line of her jaw, the dark intensity of her eyes, the stubborn set of her lips—with a terrifying, absolute focus.
“Whatever is left unprotected,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “Or whatever wanders into my ballroom asking a stranger to kiss her.”
Vivian’s breath hitched. She hadn't forgotten the moment in the ballroom—the desperation, the raw, reckless impulse that had driven her to grab his sleeve.
“You never answered my question back then,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I asked you to kiss me.”
May you like
Dominic took a slow step closer. The scent of cedarwood, scotch, and cold rain enveloped her.
“I told you I hadn't said no,” he replied, his gaze dropping slowly to her lips.
