Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of St. Jude’s
Two miles away, in a quiet, sterile room at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital, the morning light filtered through heavy white blinds, casting soft geometric patterns across a narrow hospital bed.
Evelyn Beckett woke up slowly. Her side throbbed with a dull, burning ache where the stitches held her skin together beneath a thick white bandage. Her mouth felt like sandpaper.
She blinked against the glare, expecting the empty, depressing quiet of her own apartment—or worse, the darkness of the street.
Instead, sitting in a hard plastic chair beside her bed, wearing a rumpled shirt with his tie discarded on the floor, was Gabriel DeMarco. He was reading a printed medical chart with the intense concentration of a man reviewing a multi-million-dollar shipping manifest.
Evelyn tried to move, but a sharp gasp escaped her lips.
Gabriel’s head snapped up instantly. In a second, he was out of the chair, his hand gently resting on her uninjured shoulder to keep her still.
“Don’t move,” Gabriel said, his voice unusually soft, devoid of the cold corporate authority he used in the boardroom. “The doctor said the internal bruising is extensive. You lost a dangerous amount of blood.”
Evelyn swallowed hard, her voice raspy. “You... you shouldn't be here. If Vincent or Damian sees you leaving the office before the rehearsal dinner... they’ll know you found the drive.”
Gabriel pulled a small paper cup of water from the bedside table, inserted a bendable straw, and held it patiently while she drank. She drank greedily, the cool water feeling like heaven.
“Vincent and Damian are currently answering some very uncomfortable questions in my basement,” Gabriel replied, his eyes dark and steady. “And the rehearsal dinner has been permanently canceled.”
Evelyn froze. She stared up at him, her heart skipping a beat. “You... you read the files?”
“Every byte,” Gabriel said, pulling the flash drive out of his pocket and placing it gently on the tray table. “I saw the bank transfers. I saw the architectural blueprints for the yacht modifications. I saw the legal transfer clauses that would have handed my entire empire to Damian Kensington five minutes after we said our vows at St. Augustine Cathedral.”
A tear slipped down Evelyn’s cheek—not from pain, but from the sudden, overwhelming release of a burden she had carried alone for three terrifying days.
“They called me a thief,” Evelyn whispered, her voice breaking. “Isabella told everyone I was a jealous, plus-size nobody who couldn't stand seeing another woman win.”
Gabriel reached out. His large, warm hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the tear. The gesture was so tender, so completely out of character for the ruthless logistics kingpin, that Evelyn stopped breathing.
“Isabella is a monster wrapped in a Chanel dress,” Gabriel said, his voice vibrating with controlled rage. “And I was a blind fool for letting her stay in my house for four years.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes locked onto hers. “You saved my life, Evelyn. Not just from an assassination plot... but from a lifetime of living with a lie.”
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Evelyn looked down, suddenly self-conscious of her hospital gown, her tangled hair, and the bruises marring her skin. “I’m just an assistant, Gabriel. I organize folders.”
“You are the only person in Chicago with more integrity than courage,” Gabriel corrected softly. “And starting tomorrow, the title on your office door is going to change.”
