Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary on the Sixteenth Floor
The Presidential Suite at the St. Regis was a sprawling, three-thousand-square-foot sanctuary of glass, marble, and brushed gold, offering a panoramic view of the twinkling San Francisco skyline and the distant orange glow of the Golden Gate Bridge.
By nine-thirty, Marcus had arranged for a high-end wooden crib to be delivered to the master bedroom, along with organic milk, baby food, and an array of plush toys from an upscale boutique in Union Square that had opened its doors late strictly for the Cole Meridian Holdings account.
Lily was fast asleep in the crib, clutching her stuffed rabbit, her breathing soft and rhythmic in the quiet room.
In the adjacent living room, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words.
A silver tray with warm tea, fresh fruit, and roasted chicken sat untouched on the marble coffee table. Emily sat on the edge of the cream-colored velvet sofa, holding a mug of chamomile tea in both hands, staring into the flickering glass fireplace.
Nathan stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his tie loosened, his jacket discarded over a chair. He had a glass of scotch in his hand, but he hadn't taken a single sip.
"She’s a fast sleeper," Nathan remarked softly, breaking the long silence.
"She gets tired easily when traveling," Emily replied, her voice low. "She was excited about the 'big flying boat.'"
Nathan turned around, looking at her. In the soft amber glow of the fireplace, she looked remarkably like the woman he had fallen in love with six years ago in a rainy coffee shop near Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Back then, she had been a overworked resident therapist with a laugh that could clear the clouds from his mind. He had been a ruthless young executive trying to prove to his dying father that he was tough enough to lead.
"Why didn't you marry someone else, Emily?" Nathan asked quietly.
Emily looked up, startled by the question. "What?"
"In thirty months," Nathan said, taking a slow step toward the sofa. "You're beautiful, smart, kind. You could have had any man you wanted. A man who was there at five o'clock every evening. A man who didn't carry the weight of a corporate empire on his back."
Emily set her tea mug down on the table with a soft clink. She let out a weary laugh, shaking her head.
"Do you really think it’s that simple, Nathan?" she asked, her eyes meeting his. "When you love someone the way I loved you—when you pour every ounce of your soul into a man who is too busy building monuments to his own grief to notice—it breaks something inside you. You don't just jump into another relationship. You rebuild yourself. Piece by piece."
Nathan winced, the pain of her words cutting deeper than any corporate loss he had ever suffered.
"And then," Emily continued, her voice trembling slightly, "I found out I was pregnant six weeks after I walked out of your brownstone. I spent two days throwing up in the bathroom of my tiny two-bedroom apartment, clutching a plastic stick, realizing that the man I loved was across the Atlantic buying another company."
"If you had called me—"
"If I had called you, you would have married me out of duty!" Emily stood up, her eyes blazing with raw emotion. "You would have turned our relationship into a business transaction! 'Nathan Cole marries mother of his heir.' That’s what the headlines would have said! I didn't want a husband who stayed because of a blood test, Nathan! I wanted a man who loved me!"
Nathan stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he was standing right in front of her. The smell of her hair—lavender and rain—flooded his senses, destroying every logical defense he possessed.
"I never stopped loving you, Emily," he whispered, his voice cracking with a fierce, desperate honesty. "Not for a single day. Not when you walked out the door. Not when I was sitting in those empty boardrooms. Not when I was holding that ring in my pocket today."
Emily’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, scanning his face, looking for the cold, calculating billionaire she had trained herself to fear.
She found only a man—broken, grieving, and utterly exposed.
"Nathan..." she breathed, her hand rising instinctively toward his chest, stopping just short of touching him.
Before either of them could say another word, a sharp, loud knock echoed off the double doors of the suite.
Nathan turned, his eyebrows drawing together in frustration. "Stay here."
He walked across the hardwood foyer and pulled open the heavy door.
Standing in the hallway, wearing an exquisite midnight-blue silk trench coat, her blonde hair styled in flawless waves, was Claire Beaumont. Beside her stood two hotel security guards who looked deeply uncomfortable.
May you like
Claire looked past Nathan into the warm, dimly lit suite, her blue eyes narrowing as she spotted Emily standing near the fireplace.
"Well, Nathan," Claire said, her voice dripping with ice. "Now I see why you canceled dinner at Meadowood. Care to introduce me to your secret mistress?"
