Chapter 6 - THE PENTHOUSE SANCTUARY
Two weeks later, the day finally arrived for me to be discharged from Bellevue.
My babies were still in the NICU, gaining weight steadily every single day. Leo had crossed the three-pound mark, and his sisters were close behind. The doctors promised that within six weeks, they would be strong enough to come home.
Home.
I didn't have a home. Ethan had locked me out of the Park Avenue penthouse, and my old apartment had been sublet months ago.
When the nurse pushed my wheelchair out of the hospital entrance, a sleek, bulletproof black Maybach was waiting at the curb. Two security guards stood at attention, opening the rear door.
Alexander stepped out, wearing a tailored navy suit, offering me his hand.
"Where are we going?" I asked as the car pulled away into the Manhattan traffic. "I managed to secure a small short-term rental in Brooklyn with the temporary allowance—"
"You're not staying in Brooklyn, Claire," Alexander said smoothly, setting his tablet aside. "And you're not staying in a rental."
The Maybach pulled up to a soaring, majestic glass tower overlooking Central Park South—the most exclusive address in North America.
"Alexander..." I gasped as the doorman rushed to open my door. "This is the Vance Tower."
"I live on the top three floors," Alexander replied, helping me out of the car. "I had the 45th floor completely renovated over the last ten days. It is a private, five-bedroom penthouse suite with a custom nursery, a full medical-grade ventilation system for premature infants, and twenty-four-hour private security."
I stopped in the middle of the marble lobby, staring at him in disbelief. "You renovated an entire floor of your building for me?"
"For you and the babies," Alexander corrected gently, taking my elbow to guide me toward the private express elevator. "You need a safe place to heal, Claire. You need somewhere close to the hospital where no journalists, no lawyers, and no Mercers can ever bother you."
The elevator doors slid open onto the 45th floor.
It was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of Central Park draped in autumn gold. The interior was decorated in soft creams, warm woods, and plush furniture. Down the wide hallway, an immense, sunlit nursery was already set up with three white cribs, plush rocking chairs, and shelves stacked with baby clothes, wooden toys, and soft blankets.
It wasn't just luxury; it was thought, care, and absolute devotion expressed through architecture.
I walked into the center of the living room, pressing my hand against my mouth as tears spilled over my lashes.
"Why are you doing all of this, Alexander?" I whispered, turning to look at him. "This costs millions of dollars... you've spent weeks protecting me, fighting Ethan, setting up this home... Why?"
Alexander walked across the hardwood floor until he was standing right in front of me. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek.
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"Because five years ago, I watched the wrong man claim the only woman who ever made me want a life outside my work," Alexander said softly, his voice trembling with a rare, quiet honesty. "I watched him break your spirit, Claire. And I swore to myself that if I ever got the chance to give you the world... I would never let you go."
My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear, but from a sudden, dizzying wave of hope.
