Chapter 3 - Shadows in the LibraryThe guest suite in the Mercer mansion looked like something out of a boutique hotel in Paris—oversized king bed, velvet drapes, antique armoires, and a private en-suite bathroom lined with imported marble.
After taking a long, scalding shower that finally thawed the ice out of her bones, Claire dressed in the oversized cashmere sweater and soft lounge pants Martha had provided. She sat on the edge of the plush mattress, staring at the heavy oak door.
She could hear the faint, steady footsteps of the guard pacing back and forth in the hallway outside.
Hostage. There was no other word for it. She had risked her life to save a drowning child, and her reward was house arrest in a mob boss's compound.
Rising quietly, Claire walked over to the tall windows overlooking the rear gardens. The moon was obscured by thick clouds, casting eerie shadows across the manicured lawns and the dark, looming shapes of the security fences.
She needed to get out. Even if she managed to slip past the guard, the estate gates were locked tight, guarded by armed men and automated surveillance cameras.
A soft click at the door made her spin around.
The heavy wood swung open.
Roman Mercer stepped into the room. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp lines of his throat. He looked less like a corporate titan now and more like what he truly was—a dangerous man accustomed to navigating the brutal underworld of Chicago.
"You're pacing," Roman noted, closing the door quietly behind him.
"I'm illegally detained in a gilded cage, Mr. Mercer," Claire shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Pacing feels like a polite reaction."
Roman walked slowly toward the center of the room, his eyes scanning her over. "The clothes fit. Martha has a good eye."
"Can we skip the fashion commentary? Why am I locked in here? Your son told you I saved him."
"My son is eight years old and believes magic is real," Roman replied evenly. "Children are easily manipulated by a kind voice and a heroic narrative."
"You really think I staged a near-drowning?" Claire disbelief was palpable. "What, did I pay your son to jump into the river so I could play lifeguard? Do you hear how paranoid that sounds?"
"You'd be amazed what people will do for money, or debt, or protection," Roman said softly, stepping closer. "My competitors have tried every trick in the book to get someone inside my inner circle. An attractive, compassionate ER nurse with a spotless record? It’s almost too clean of a backstory, Ms. Bennett. That’s what makes me suspicious."
"Check my student loans!" Claire fired back, stepping right up to him, refusing to cower. "Check my bank account! I am six months behind on my car insurance, my cat eats generic brand kibble because I can't afford the good stuff, and my biggest financial thrill this month was finding a twenty-dollar bill in my winter coat! Does that sound like an elite corporate spy to you?"
Roman looked down at her. For a moment, his stern expression wavered. He didn't answer immediately. He reached out—so fast she didn't have time to flinch—and gently touched the side of her face, his thumb brushing over the raw, scraped skin near her cheekbone where she had hit the concrete.
Claire’s breath hitched. The air between them suddenly felt thick, charged with an unexpected, electric tension that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with proximity.
"You're bleeding," Roman murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
"It's nothing," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs for an entirely new reason.
Roman dropped his hand, stepping back as if he had touched a live wire. The impenetrable mask slammed back over his features.
May you like
"Stay in this room, Claire," he said, using her first name for the first time. "My men are running a full background check on your life. If you're clean... by morning, you'll be home. If you're lying..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
