Chapter 3 - The Secret Contract
The pristine white marble of the Grand Harbor Hotel lobby suddenly looked like a crime scene. A dark, crimson stain began to spread across the polished floor beneath Grace, pooling around her worn canvas sneakers.
"Grace!" Nathan screamed, abandoning Julian entirely as he lunged forward, sliding across the floor on his knees to catch her before her head hit the stone.
He pulled her into his arms, pressing her trembling, sweat-slicked body against his chest. Her skin was burning hot, clammy, and translucent under the harsh lobby lights. The sophisticated veneer of the five-star hotel evaporated instantly, replaced by raw, primal panic.
"Somebody call an ambulance!" Nathan roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings with terrifying authority. He looked up at the cluster of hotel staff and security guards frozen in horror just yards away. "Are you all standing there deaf? Call 911 right now or I will personally fire every single person in this building!"
"Don't... don't call them, Nathan," Grace gasped, her small fingers clawing frantically at the expensive fabric of his shirt. Her amber eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror. "The... the contract..."
"To hell with the contract!" Nathan cried, his voice breaking as he pressed his hand against her aching, swollen abdomen, feeling the frantic, erratic kicks of the baby fighting for life inside her. "You're bleeding, Grace. You're premature, you're in distress, we're going to a hospital right now."
"You don't understand..." she sobbed, a fresh wave of agony wracking her small frame as another contraction hit. "Julian... he said if I left... if I told you where I was... he would make sure your father's legacy... your entire company... was destroyed."
Nathan froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He slowly turned his head over his shoulder.
Julian Vance was standing just a few feet away, brushing the lapels of his charcoal suit where Nathan had grabbed him. He didn't look panicked. He didn't look remorseful. He looked like a chess grandmaster watching his opponent walk directly into a checkmate.
"Security," Julian commanded, his voice calm, crisp, and dripping with absolute authority. The hotel guards, who had hesitated when Nathan shouted, immediately snapped to attention at Julian's voice. "Assist Mr. Whittaker in escorting Mrs. Whittaker to the private medical suite on the lower level. Do not allow any outside paramedics or ambulances onto hotel property until I have reviewed the corporate liability waivers."
"You psychotic bastard," Nathan snarled, gently lowering Grace to the floor and rising to his full height.
Before the guards could react, Nathan crossed the space between them in two massive strides and threw a devastating right hook straight into Julian's jaw.
The sickening crack of bone echoed through the lobby. Julian stumbled backward, crashing hard into a mahogany concierge desk before collapsing onto the floor, clutching his bleeding, crooked nose. Blood poured through his fingers, staining his expensive silk tie a brilliant, violent red.
"Mr. Vance!" a hotel manager shrieked, rushing forward.
"Touch me or my wife again, Julian, and I won't just break your jaw—I'll strip you of every share, every asset, and every dime you've ever stolen from Whittaker Construction," Nathan hissed, his voice trembling with homicidal rage. He didn't wait for security to swarm him. He turned back to Grace, scooped her light, fragile body entirely into his arms, and sprinted toward the glass revolving doors, ignoring the screaming hotel staff and the flickering lights overhead.
He didn't wait for an ambulance. He kicked open the glass doors, bursting out into the cold Seattle rain, and carried his wife directly toward his black luxury sedan idling at the curb.
"Get the back door open!" Nathan screamed at his stunned driver, who dropped his umbrella and fumbled with the rear handle.
As Nathan laid Grace carefully across the leather backseat of the car, pressing his coat beneath her head, she grabbed his wrist with a grip surprisingly strong for someone so weak.
"Nathan..." she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "The papers... in my locker downstairs... employee locker 412... read them... before Julian destroys us."
"Save your strength, baby. We're going to Swedish Medical Center. You're going to be fine. Our baby is going to be fine," Nathan choked out, kissing her damp forehead over and over again, ignoring the blood soaking through his designer shirt.
The driver slammed the door, sprinting around to the driver's seat as the tires squealed against the wet asphalt, tearing away from the Grand Harbor Hotel into the rainy Seattle night.
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Inside the lobby, Julian Vance slowly pushed himself up from the floor, wiping blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand. He stared out the glass doors at the tail-lights disappearing into the storm, a dark, twisted grin stretching across his bruised face.
"Run all you want, Nathan," Julian muttered to himself, his voice cold as winter steel. "You can save her life tonight. But by morning, you won't even have a company left to pay the hospital bills."
