Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Ward
St. Anthony’s Hospital sat on the northern edge of Chicago, its cold concrete facade illuminated by the harsh glow of streetlights. Because the hospital was funded largely through a charitable foundation managed by Moretti Logistics, the third-floor private wing was entirely cleared of civilian patients.
Four of Adrian's guards stood posted outside Room 308.
Inside, the only sound was the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. Emily Bennett lay in the center of the bed, her dark hair fan-spread across the white pillow. A small white bandage covered the cut above her left eyebrow, and her right arm was encased in a clean plaster cast.
Adrian stood by the window, staring down at the rain-slicked parking lot below. In his arms, Lucy was fast asleep, her tiny face buried into the crook of his neck, her breathing soft and even. He had refused to leave her at the estate.
A soft moan came from the bed.
Adrian turned immediately.
Emily’s eyelashes fluttered. She swallowed hard, her cracked lips moving without sound before her eyes slowly opened. She looked around the sterile room in confusion until her eyes landed on Adrian.
Panic instantly flooded her features. She tried to sit up, wincing in agony as her cast hit the side railing.
"Mr. Moretti—" her voice was a rough whisper. "Lucy—where is—"
"Shh," Adrian said softly, stepping closer to the bedside so she could see the child in his arms. "She’s right here. She’s safe. She’s asleep."
Emily let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders collapsing back onto the mattress. Tears welled in her gray eyes, tracking down her pale cheeks. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'm so sorry about the mess in the hallway—"
"Stop," Adrian interrupted gently. "Do not apologize to me. You have a concussion and a broken wrist."
He set Lucy down carefully on the small armchair beside the bed, draping his suit jacket over her small shoulders to keep her warm. Then, he turned back to Emily, leaning his hands on the bed rail.
"Tell me what happened in that hallway, Emily."
Emily looked away, her fingers gripping the blanket. "I was finishing the midnight rounds. Mrs. Hale asked me to make sure the library was locked. When I went inside, Ms. Carlisle was standing behind your desk. She had a small flash drive plugged into your terminal, and she was holding a stack of blue folders from the floor safe."
Adrian felt a cold flame ignite in his chest. "And then?"
"I asked her if she needed help," Emily whispered. "She panicked. She dropped the folders, pulled the flash drive out, and told me to get out. I tried to pick up the papers to put them back, but she grabbed my arm. She dragged me into the hallway, screaming that I was spying on her. When I tried to pull away, she shoved me... hard. I hit the brass table, then the mirror..."
Her voice broke. "She told me if I ever said a word to you, she would make sure Lucy and I disappeared."
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Adrian stared at the quiet housekeeper. For three months, he had assumed she was just an invisible piece of the house's machinery. But looking at her now—pale, injured, yet looking at him with steady, desperate truth—he realized how blind he had been.
"She won't harm you," Adrian said, his voice flat, absolute, and chillingly confident. "Neither will her father. Neither will anyone else."
