Chapter 2 - THE SECURE VAULT
"Clear!" Marcus, Dominic’s chief of security, bellowed across the shattered foyer. "Perimeter is secure! Sniper was on the ridge—he hit the windbreak trees and vanished into the woods!"
Dominic didn't rise immediately. He slowly peeled himself off Claire, his hand sliding down to cup the back of her neck, pulling her up gently until she was sitting against the cold stone pillar.
His black suit coat was torn at the shoulder from the shattered glass, and a hairline cut was bleeding near his temple, dripping crimson down his sharp jawline.
"Are you hit, Claire? Look at me. Tell me." His voice was low, rough, and laced with an edge of panic he rarely allowed anyone to see.
"I'm not hit," Claire said, pushing his hand away. Her voice was ice. "You can let go of me now, Mr. Carver."
Dominic flinched slightly at the title. He stood up, towering over her, his eyes dark with a mixture of raw anger and growing horror.
"We are going down to the panic room," Dominic commanded.
"No," Claire replied, dusting glass off her denim jacket. "I am getting into my car and driving to a hotel."
"There is a sniper out there who just put two heavy-caliber rounds through my front window," Dominic snapped, his jaw tightening into iron. "You are not leaving this estate until I know who ordered that shot."
"And why do you care?" Claire stood up, meeting his lethal gaze without flinching, despite the adrenaline making her knees tremble. "An hour ago, you called me a thief. You said I was a cheap gold digger who played the long game. If I die in your driveway, doesn't that save you the trouble of a divorce?"
The words landed like physical blows. Dominic's hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, the metal of her wedding ring still buried inside his right grip.
"Claire—"
"Don't," she interrupted, stepping over a large piece of broken window frame. "You searched my belongings. You humiliated me in front of your guards. You let your cousin, Julian, talk in your ear for three days straight until you convinced yourself that the girl from the East Side only married you for your bank account."
Dominic swallowed hard. His cousin Julian had been the one to present the digital paper trail that pointed the finger directly at Claire. The offshore accounts, the forged authorization codes—it had all carried Claire's personal security credentials.
"The evidence had your digital signature, Claire," Dominic said softly, though the authority in his tone was crumbling. "Four million dollars left the relief fund through your terminal."
"And you believed a piece of code over the woman who slept in your bed every night for three months?" Claire looked at him with profound disappointment. "You're supposed to be the smartest man in Chicago, Dominic. But you're just paranoid."
Marcus approached them carefully, holding a tactical radio. "Boss, we need to move to the lower level. The local police are tracking the gunshots, but our perimeter team is turning them back."
Dominic took a slow, deep breath, struggling to regain control of the room. "Take her down to the lower vault office. Set four men outside the door."
"I am not your prisoner, Dominic!" Claire hissed.
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"You're not my prisoner," Dominic growled, stepping into her space until his chest was inches from hers, his dark eyes burning into hers. "You're my wife. And until I put the man who shot at you into the ground, you don't step foot outside these gates. Walk, Claire. Don't make my men carry you."
Claire stared at him with pure hatred, picked up her canvas overnight bag, and turned toward the basement stairs.
