Chapter 2 - The House on the Hill
My estate in Oak Brook was built like a medieval fortress disguised as a modern architectural masterpiece. High stone walls, bulletproof glass, and forty acres of private woodland surrounded the main house, patrolled round-the-clock by men who looked like corporate executives but shot like military snipers.
The ride in the back of my armored Maybach had been dead quiet for the first ten minutes. Clara sat across from me, her arms tightly wrapped around her two middle daughters, while the eldest sat beside her, watching me with cautious, intelligent eyes. The smallest girl, however, had refused to sit on her own seat. She was perched right beside me, holding my hand as if it were a life raft in a stormy sea.
"Mr. Vance," Clara finally spoke, her voice smooth and refined, though laced with exhaustion. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did in that café... but you shouldn't have lied to Richard Mercer. He is a dangerous man in the financial world. He has connections to powerful people."
"So do I," I said simply, without a trace of vanity. "And I didn't lie, Mrs. Sterling."
She blinked in confusion. "Pardon?"
"A lie implies deceit," I replied, looking out the tinted window at the passing snow-covered trees. "When I said I would protect you and your daughters, I meant it. You are under my care now."
"We can't accept that," Clara said firmly, though her hands were shaking. "My father left behind massive corporate debts after his death, and Richard Mercer bought them out specifically to force me into marriage so he could take control of our family's remaining real estate holdings. It's a mess, Mr. Vance. A legal and financial nightmare. You don't want to be involved in this."
"I am already involved," I said, turning back to face her. "And as for Mr. Mercer's financial hold on you... Victor is already purchasing his lending firm as we speak. By tomorrow morning, Mr. Mercer will be looking for a job, not an estate."
Clara stared at me, speechless.
The vehicle pulled through the heavy iron gates of the estate and came to a stop before the grand entrance. The heavy doors were opened by my house manager, and we stepped into the warm, towering grand foyer.
Standing at the top of the marble staircase was a nine-year-old boy with dark hair and intense, serious eyes. Ethan. My son.
Ethan walked down the stairs slowly, his eyes scanning the four girls, then Clara, and finally me. Since his mother passed away four years ago, Ethan had lived a quiet, solitary life inside this vast house. He had tutors, security guards, and every toy money could buy, but he lacked a family.
"Dad?" Ethan asked, stopping on the bottom step. "Who are they?"
The smallest girl stepped out from behind my leg, taking a brave step toward Ethan. "I'm Lily," she announced in her high-pitched voice. "And he's our new Dad."
Ethan's eyebrows shot up. He looked at me, then back at Lily, and a tiny, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"He's a pretty good Dad," Ethan said, looking Lily up and down. "He lets you eat ice cream before dinner if you finish your homework, and he knows how to fix broken bikes."
Clara stepped forward, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I am so sorry, young man. My daughters were scared today, and your father was kind enough to help us. We will only be staying until I can arrange a hotel—"
"You're not going to a hotel, Clara," I interrupted firmly. "Mercer isn't the only dog sniffing around your family's assets. Until I find out who fed him the information about your debts, this house is the safest place on earth for you and your girls."
I looked down at the four girls. "Ethan, show them to the East Wing guest rooms. Make sure they have whatever they need."
As Ethan led the four quiet girls up the grand staircase, chattering about his private theater room and his dog, Clara remained standing in the foyer, looking up at the high ceiling as if she were waiting for the roof to cave in.
"Why are you doing this, Mr. Vance?" she asked softly, turning her dark eyes to me. "Men like you don't offer protection for free. What is your price?"
May you like
I walked over to the grand fireplace, watching the flames lick the heavy logs.
"My price, Mrs. Sterling," I said, "is that you let me do my job. Children shouldn't have to crawl under tables to feel safe. In my house, nobody hides."
