Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE OF SECRETS
The interior of the Cross townhouse was breathtaking and bitterly cold.
High ceilings, dark oak wainscoting, minimalist art that cost more than a hospital wing, and an eerie, echoing silence that hung over the halls like fog. There were no family portraits on the walls, no scattered toys on the floor, no signs of life other than the silent, uniformed housekeepers who moved like shadows through the corridors.
Damon led Nora up a grand spiral staircase to the third floor, carrying Milo against his chest with surprising gentleness for a man of his size and reputation.
“This is the east wing,” Damon said quietly, pausing in front of a heavy mahogany door. “Milo’s room is inside, connected to a suite for whoever is watching him. Your things... whatever you had in your locker at The Aurelian... Marcus already had retrieved and brought here.”
Nora stopped, staring at him in disbelief. “You searched my locker before I even agreed to anything?”
“I don't leave variables unturned, Miss Bennett,” Damon replied without a trace of apology. “In my world, an unverified variable is a bullet with your name on it.”
“I am not a variable,” Nora said, her voice dropping into a sharp, defensive register. “I am a person. And for the record, your world sounds exhausting.”
Damon looked down at her, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous intensity. For a second, Nora thought she had crossed a line that would get her thrown out onto the freezing pavement. But instead, Damon simply gave a slow, measured nod.
“It is,” he murmured softly. “Exhausting and lonely. Put Milo to bed. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Don't try to leave the grounds—the perimeter is secured.”
With that, he turned and walked down the long hallway toward his own study, his footsteps echoing like gunshots against the hardwood.
Nora exhaled a breath she didn't realize she’d been holding. She pushed open the door to the nursery.
It was large, beautifully decorated with star-patterned wallpaper and shelves of expensive books, but it felt entirely sterile. No blankets thrown over the chairs, no half-finished drawings. Just order. Cold, unyielding order.
She gently tucked Milo into the massive four-poster bed, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead. The boy sighed in his sleep, his little hand reaching out blindly to catch the fabric of her sleeve, gripping it tightly even in dreams.
Nora sat down on the edge of the mattress, the exhaustion of the double shift crashing over her all at once. She looked around the empty room and felt a profound, suffocating wave of empathy.
This little boy had everything money could buy, and absolutely nothing he actually needed.
She stayed there for an hour, watching him breathe, until the heavy silence of the house was broken by a soft knock at the door.
She turned to see a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair and kind, tired eyes standing in the doorway, holding a tray with a steaming mug of tea and a small plate of crackers.
“I’m Mrs. Gable,” the woman said softly, stepping inside. “I’ve managed this household for twelve years. I saw what you did in the restaurant tonight, Miss Bennett. God knows nobody else around here has had the courage to look Mr. Cross in the eye and tell him he’s failing his son.”
“I didn't mean to lecture him,” Nora sighed, taking the mug gratefully. “I just... I know what grief looks like when it gets trapped inside a child.”
“His mother, Elena, passed away eighteen months ago,” Mrs. Gable said, her voice dropping to a sad whisper as she looked down at sleeping Milo. “A targeted hit meant for Damon. She took the bullet outside a charity gala. Ever since that night, Damon has built an iron wall around himself and this house. He thinks protection means locking everything away. But a child can't grow behind a barricade.”
Nora sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through her chest. “And the rest of the syndicate?”
“Vultures,” Mrs. Gable replied grimly. “Waiting for Damon to show a crack so they can tear him apart. There are men inside this very city who would use Milo to get to his father without a second thought. That’s why Damon is paranoid. That’s why he doesn't trust anyone.”
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“Trust is a two-way street, Mrs. Gable,” Nora said quietly, her eyes fixed on the sleeping boy. “If you treat everyone like an enemy, eventually you won't have anyone left to fight beside you.”
Mrs. Gable smiled faintly, a look of profound respect crossing her features. “You might just be the most dangerous person to ever enter this house, Miss Bennett. And you don't even carry a gun.”
