Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage
When the three blacked-out SUVs arrived, Dileia didn't panic. She stood over Killian’s prone body, her bloody scissors raised in a defensive posture. But the men who stepped out didn't look like the attackers. They wore identical dark suits, their faces grim, led by an older man with silver hair and a military bearing.
"Stand down, Miss," the older man said, his eyes scanning Killian’s neat stitches. "We are Mr. Vance's personal security. You've saved his life. We're taking you both."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," Dileia said, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "I'm going to the shelter."
"The shelters in this city are controlled by the people who just tried to kill him," the silver-haired man said gently. "If they find out a nurse patched him up, you won't make it to sunrise. My name is Marcus. Please. For your own safety."
Two hours later, Dileia found herself in a world she didn't know existed. Killian’s estate was a massive, fortress-like mansion overlooking the Hadley River. It was filled with old money luxury—heavy mahogany furniture, oil paintings, and security guards at every corner.
She sat in a velvet armchair in the master bedroom, wrapped in an oversized, incredibly soft terrycloth robe the staff had provided. A fire crackled in the grate, warming her chilled bones. On the bed lay Killian, an IV line hooked to his arm, his chest rising and falling in a steady, drug-induced sleep.
The door opened softly, and Marcus stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with hot tea and a plate of food. "He's stable, Miss Hartwell. The doctor we brought in said your work was flawless. You saved him from exsanguination."
"I did my job," Dileia said, staring into the teacup. "What happens to me now?"
"Mr. Vance left specific instructions before he went under," Marcus explained, setting the tray down. "You are to stay here. As his private medical supervisor. He is offering you a salary of fifty thousand dollars a week."
Dileia choked on her tea. "Weekly? That's... that's absurd. I can't accept that."
"He also took the liberty of looking into your situation," Marcus continued, pulling a document from his coat. "Your niece, Maya. She has been retrieved from her temporary housing. She is currently asleep in the east wing guest suite. We have already paid off your mother's funeral debts, and your old apartment building has been bought by Vance Holdings. Your landlord has been... relocated."
Dileia stood up, her heart hammering against her ribs. Fear and relief warred inside her chest. "He did all that in two hours?"
"Mr. Vance operates on a different timeline than the rest of the world," a deep voice said from the bed.
Killian was awake, sitting up against the pillows despite the strain on his stitches. His gray eyes were clear, sharp, and intensely focused on her. "You promised someone pancakes, Dileia. I make it a point never to let a lady break a promise."
"You... you're insane," she breathed, walking over to the bedside to check his vitals out of sheer habit. "You can't just buy people's lives."
"I didn't buy your life," Killian said, reaching out to catch her wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was inescapable, warm and vital against her skin. "I bought your time. Sleep beside me tonight. Not in my bed, but in that chair. Be my guard against the dark, Nurse Hartwell. Name your price, and it's yours."
Dileia looked down at his hand, then out the window toward the city that had chewed her up and spit her out. She thought of Maya sleeping safely down the hall.
May you like
"Pancakes," she said softly. "Real ones. With real maple syrup for my niece."
Killian’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. "Done."
