Chapter 3 - The Palmer House Rooftop
Midnight in Chicago was a symphony of howling wind off Lake Michigan, distant siren wails, and the neon heartbeat of a city that never truly slept.
The rooftop bar of the historic Palmer House was closed to the public for the night, but the heavy glass doors opened instantly as Harper stepped out of the elevator. Two men in charcoal suits nodded stiffly, stepping aside to let her pass into the open-air terrace where the city lights glittered like scattered diamonds across the dark expanse.
Julian Vance stood by the glass railing, holding a glass of amber whiskey. He wore the same black overcoat, his dark hair ruffled slightly by the biting lake wind. He didn't turn around when she approached, but he knew she was there.
"You came," Julian said, his voice carrying easily over the wind.
"I read the contract," Harper said, keeping her voice steady despite the cold. She set her go-bag down by her boots. "The salary is absurd. The facility is illegal under standard state health codes, and your security protocols are paranoid."
Julian finally turned, a faint, humorless smile touching the corner of his lips. "Nothing at The Sanctum violates federal or state statutes that our legal team hasn't already bulletproofed. As for paranoia in Chicago, Miss Bellamy, paranoia is simply situational awareness."
He took a sip of his whiskey and set the glass down on a marble-topped table.
"What happened to Trevor?" Harper asked bluntly.
Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Straight to the point. I like that. Trevor Sterling went to his new girlfriend’s penthouse on the Gold Coast thinking he had successfully discarded a broken toy. What he doesn't know is that Marcus Vance’s business accounts are currently being audited by a federal task force—an audit I initiated three hours ago."
Harper’s eyes widened. "You destroyed him already?"
"I destroyed Marcus Vance's leverage," Julian corrected smoothly. "Trevor is merely collateral damage. By morning, Meridian Financial will freeze all executive bonuses, and Trevor’s precious Cynthia will discover that her uncle’s empire is built on borrowed time and unpaid markers. Trevor will find himself unemployed, broke, and drowning in debts he thought he could outrun."
"That’s cruel," Harper whispered, though she felt no sympathy for Trevor.
"That is business in Chicago," Julian replied, stepping closer. The wind whipped Harper’s hair across her scarred cheek, and she instinctively reached up to pull her collar higher. Julian noticed the movement. Without a word, he unbuttoned his heavy black overcoat, slipped it off his broad shoulders, and draped it over Harper’s.
The coat was heavy, warm, and smelled faintly of expensive cedar and rain.
Harper froze, her hands gripping the lapels. "Mr. Vance—"
"Julian," he corrected softly. "If you are going to work for me, Mr. Vance sounds entirely too formal for a man who owes you his life."
"You don't owe me anything," Harper insisted, looking up into his dark, intense eyes. "I saved a stranger in a trauma bay two years ago. That was part of my oath as a nurse."
"And tonight, you accepted my contract," Julian said, his gaze holding hers with an immovable gravity. "Which means you belong to my world now, Harper. And in my world, we don't abandon people who carry our scars."
Before Harper could process the profound weight of his words, the elevator doors chimed behind them.
May you like
A frantic, out-of-breath man stumbled onto the terrace, guided by one of Julian’s guards. It was Trevor Sterling. His expensive tie was undone, his hair disheveled, and panic was etched into every line of his pale face.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Harper standing there, wrapped in Julian Vance’s overcoat, looking stronger and more composed than she had looked in the entire four months since the fire.
