Chapter 2 - The Cage of Glass and Marble
The ride to the penthouse was executed in absolute silence. Rain lashed against the dark tinted windows of the Mercedes SUV as Chicago’s neon lights blurred into streaks of red and blue. Sitting across from Damen Volkov felt like sharing a small room with an unexploded bomb. He didn't check his phone, he didn't fidget, and he didn't look out the window. His gray eyes remained locked on Selene, reading her terrified expressions like open pages in a medical chart.
"You killed him," Selene whispered, her hands shaking uncontrollably in her lap. "He’s dead on my clinic floor."
"My man eliminated a threat," Damen replied smoothly, his tone as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather. "Preston Holloway was a coward with a firearm and zero restraint. If my associate hadn't pulled the trigger, you would be bleeding out on that linoleum right now. You should be offering thanks, Dr. Mercer, not moral judgment."
"I am a doctor!" Selene’s voice cracked, sharp and desperate in the quiet cabin. "I take an oath to preserve life! You brought murder into my sanctuary!"
"Your sanctuary was a firetrap in a slum," Damen countered, leaning forward slightly. The movement brought the faint scent of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain into her space. "And tonight, it became a target. The men Preston owed money to aren't drunk fools with bad aim. They are professional executioners. When they find out Preston is dead, they will look for his wife. And they will look for the doctor who tried to shield her."
Ivy was huddled in the far corner of the leather seat, clutching a dry coat Damen’s driver had handed her, sobbing soundlessly. Selene reached over, wrapping her hand around Ivy’s icy fingers.
The SUV glided into the underground parking garage of a soaring glass skyscraper overlooking the Chicago River. Private security guards clad in tactical gear stood at attention as the doors opened. Within seconds, Selene and Ivy were whisked into a private high-speed elevator that required a biometric scan to operate.
When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, Selene gasped despite herself.
The penthouse was a massive expanse of polished marble, floor-to-ceiling glass, and minimalist Italian furniture. The panoramic view showed the entire glittering skyline of Chicago, drenched in rain and night. It felt less like a home and more like a fortress built in the clouds.
"Welcome to my home," Damen said, removing his suit jacket to reveal the crisp white shirt beneath, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean physique. "You will stay here tonight. Tomorrow, my team will arrange new identities for both of you."
"New identities?" Selene snapped, stepping forward, forgetting her fear in the heat of outrage. "I have a clinic! I have patients depending on me! I have a life!"
"You had a life," Damen corrected her coldly. "Past tense. The moment Ivy walked through your door, your old life ended. Accept it, Dr. Mercer, or go back down to the street and see how long you survive."
Selene stared at him, her heart thumping wildly against her ribs. She wanted to slap his arrogant, perfect face. She wanted to walk out the door. But deep down, the logical part of her brain—the part that analyzed traumas and calculated survival rates—knew he was right.
A sharp chime broke the tension. Damen pulled a secondary, encrypted phone from his pocket. He swiped the screen, and his jaw hardened.
May you like
He looked up from the device, his gray eyes darkening to the shade of a winter storm. Without a word, he turned the screen toward Selene.
It was a photo taken just moments ago. It showed the exterior of Mercy Street Clinic—completely engulfed in roaring, uncontrollable flames.
