Chapter 4 - The Terminal Ambush
The train shuddered, its heavy brakes screaming against the rails as it glided into Union Station's private subterranean platform.
Before the doors had even fully slid open, I could see the flashing lights through the smoked glass of the first-class window. Camera shutters clicked like a swarm of mechanical crickets, and a wall of reporters pressed against the reinforced glass barrier guarded by four of Marcus's associates.
"Stay behind me," Roman said, his voice dropping into that commanding, ice-cold register that brooked no argument. He buttoned his wrinkled black blazer, instantly transformed from an exhausted, desperate father back into the untouchable corporate titan of the East Side.
Marcus unlocked the compartment door and stepped out first, clearing a path through the media crush with broad shoulders and an intimidating scowl.
Roman turned to me, his dark eyes softening just a fraction. He reached down, carefully lifting sleeping Jude, while two other burly guards hoisted the triple stroller carrying Leo and Silas.
"Ready?" Roman asked.
I took a deep breath, clutching my worn leather purse to my chest. "As I'll ever be."
The moment Roman stepped off the train, the noise level in the terminal spiked a hundredfold. Microphones thrust forward like lances. Flashbulbs strobed in a blinding white fury.
“Mr. Vale! Is it true the merger with Kincaid Logistics is dead?” “Mr. Vale, who are the children? Are you confirming the surrogate reports?” “Mr. Vale, look this way—!”
Roman didn't slow down. He shielded Jude's face with his broad hand, his body a human wall protecting his lipstick. But as the cameras flashed, a few sharp-eyed suddenly caught sight of me walking directly beside him, carrying my diaper bag and wearing my faded denim jacket.
"Wait! Who's the woman? Is she the mother?" “Ma'am! Ma'am, are you Mr. Vale's partner?” “Did you sign a non-disclosure agreement?”
A particularly aggressive reporter thrust a boom mic right into my face, nearly clipping my chin. "Miss, how long have you been hiding in the Vale household? Are you—"
"Step back," Roman commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but the sheer, lethal gravity behind it caused the reporter to instinctively recoil.
Marcus and the security team formed a tight wedge, shoving through the media pack and escorting us through a private service exit toward a sleek, matte-black bulletproof Maybach idling by the curb.
The heavy armored door clicked open, and Roman ushered me inside, climbing in right behind me. The twins and Jude were secured safely in specialized rear-facing car seats in the middle row, flanked by a professional pediatric nurse who must have boarded the train at a whistle-stop just outside Baltimore.
As the heavy doors slammed shut, sealing out the deafening roar of the station, the Maybach glided forward into the DC traffic like a ghost.
I sank back into the plush leather seat, letting out a long, trembling breath that felt like it had been trapped in my lungs for an hour.
Roman sat beside me, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He looked over at me, a faint, wry smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"Well," Roman said, resting his arm along the back of the seat. "Welcome to Washington."
I glared at him, though my heart was still pounding a mile a minute. "You just turned me into front-page news, Mr. Vale. By tomorrow morning, every tabloid from New York to Los Angeles is going to have my face plastered next to yours with headlines about your mysterious new girlfriend."
"Let them," Roman said casually.
"Let them?" My voice pitched up in disbelief. "I'm a regular person! I have a seven-month-old baby girl in Queens, a sister who is probably having a panic attack watching CNN right now, and a job interview in three hours!"
Roman's expression shifted, the playful glint disappearing, replaced by something much heavier and more intense. He reached into his pocket and slid a folded manila folder across the leather console between us.
"Open it," he said quietly.
Frowning, I picked up the folder and flipped it open. Inside was a single sheaf of legal paper bearing the letterhead of Vale Enterprises Legal Division.
My eyes scanned the first few lines, and my breath caught in my throat.
It wasn't a non-disclosure agreement. It wasn't a tabloid settlement.
It was an employment contract.
Position: Director of Corporate Community Relations, Vale Global Shipping. Base Salary: Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars per annum. Full medical, dental, and vision coverage for employees and immediate dependents, including fully funded college trust for dependent children.
I stared at the numbers, blinking rapidly. "Two hundred... fifty thousand?"
"Plus a housing stipend in Manhattan or Queens, whichever you prefer," Roman added smoothly. "And a company car, if you drive."
I dropped the folder back onto the console as if it were burning my fingers. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with a mix of shock and rising anger.
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"Are you out of your mind?" I missed. "I came to Washington for a forty-two-thousand-dollar spreadsheet job! You can't just throw a quarter-million-dollar executive salary at me because I breastfed your baby for twenty minutes!"
"I'm not throwing money at you," Roman said, his voice dropping into a low, earnest register that made my skin tingle. "I'm investing in someone who walked into a cage of armed guards and hostile reporters without hesitation because a child was hungry. That takes courage, Mara. And courage is the one thing my boardroom has been entirely out of for years."
