Chapter 5 - The Velvet Trap
The penthouse suite atop the Vance Tower in downtown Chicago was a monument to ostentatious wealth. White marble floors reflected the glittering lights of the city skyline, while minimalist modern art pieces hung from twenty-foot ceilings.
Evelyn Vance stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass window, holding a crystal flute of vintage Dom Pérignon. She wore an ivory silk designer gown that cost more than a luxury sedan, her blond hair styled into an intricate, cascading chignon that looked fit for a royal wedding.
She checked her diamond-encrusted Rolex for the fourth time in ten minutes.
Where are they? she thought, her meticulously manicured fingernails digging slightly into the stem of her glass.
The security team she had sent to Claire Bennett’s apartment should have wiped out the nurse and recovered the stolen medical logs hours ago. And Dr. Christopher’s untimely "suicide" should have sealed the Salem General leak permanently. Yet, her private tracker on the mercenaries' burner phones had gone completely dark near the North Shore.
Suddenly, the private elevator chime echoed softly across the penthouse floor.
Evelyn’s face instantly shifted. The lines of tension smoothed away, replaced by the warm, radiant, angelic smile that had charmed Chicago’s high society for years. She turned around, setting her champagne glass on a marble console table, ready to rush into her beloved fiancé's arms.
"Roman, darling!" Evelyn called out, her voice dripping with honey as the private elevator doors slid open. "You're back late! I was starting to worry—"
The words died in her throat.
It wasn't Roman who stepped out of the elevator first. It was Victor, flanked by two armed security enforcers in tactical gear. They moved with terrifying precision, sweeping the perimeter and locking down the elevators before stepping aside.
Then, Roman Hale stepped into the penthouse.
He wasn't wearing his usual warm, affectionate smile. His face was a mask of carved granite, his gray eyes dead and piercing as they locked onto hers. He didn't carry flowers. He didn't open his arms.
Instead, he walked slowly toward her across the white marble floor, the soles of his shoes clicking like a ticking clock.
Evelyn forced a nervous, breathless laugh, pressing a hand to her chest. "Roman? What is the meaning of this? Why do you have armed guards in my home? Did something happen at the corporate office?"
Roman stopped three feet away from her. The air between them felt heavy, charged with static electricity.
"Your home, Evelyn?" Roman asked, his voice dangerously low. "Or is it just another asset you plan to acquire through inheritance?"
Evelyn’s porcelain mask slipped—just for a fraction of a second, a flicker of panic darted across her blue eyes. She quickly recovered, putting on a look of profound hurt and confusion.
"Roman, darling, what are you talking about? Are you working too late again? You're exhausted—"
Slap.
The sound of Roman’s hand striking Evelyn’s cheek echoed off the marble walls like a gunshot.
Evelyn stumbled backward, gasping in shock, her hand flying to her bright red cheek. Tears instantly welled up in her eyes—tears of genuine humiliation and rage.
"Don't," Roman said, his voice trembling with a fury so intense it seemed to warp the air around him. "Don't ever use that tone with me again. Don't ever smile at me with the mouth you used to lie to my dying mother."
Evelyn stared at him, her chest heaving beneath the ivory silk. The angelic mask was completely gone now, replaced by a cold, venomous glare that matched his own.
"You found out," she whispered, her voice losing all its sugar, turning sharp as broken glass.
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"I found out," Roman confirmed. "Dr. Christopher is dead. Your mercenaries are in my custody. And the original audio logs from Salem General are currently being decrypted by my legal team."
Evelyn didn't cower. She didn't beg for mercy. Instead, she threw her head back and let out a sharp, chilling laugh that chilled the room to the bone.
