Chapter 7 - The Gathering Storm
Two weeks passed like a dream.
In the fortress on the lake, the days blurred into a peaceful routine of morning sunlight dancing across the water, long walks in the secure private gardens on the ground level, and quiet evenings where Adrian would sit on the rug with Josie and Willa, building impossibly tall towers out of wooden blocks while I watched from the sofa with a cup of tea.
For the first time since my daughters were born, I felt like I was living instead of merely surviving.
Yet, in a city as large and ruthless as Chicago, secrets never stay buried forever in the dark.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when the calm shattered.
Adrian had been called downtown for an emergency board meeting regarding an international shipping acquisition, leaving Miller and an expanded security detail stationed throughout the penthouse.
I was in the kitchen helping Willa paint a watercolor picture of a blue cat when my phone—the secure burner phone Miller had given me on our first night here—buzzes loudly on the counter.
I picked it up. An unknown number flashed across the screen.
Thinking it might be Adrian checking in from downtown, I swiped to answer.
“Hello?”
Silence on the other end for a second. Then, a low, rasping voice spoke—a voice that made every drop of blood in my body freeze instantly in my veins.
“Did you really think a few days in a luxury cage would make you safe, Camille?”
My breath caught in my throat. The paintbrush slipped from my fingers, clattering against the kitchen tile, splattering blue watercolor paint across the white floor.
“Travis?” I gasped, my voice turning into a terrified squeak. “How—how are you—? You’re in federal custody—!”
A harsh, ugly laugh crackled through the speaker.
“Federal custody? Sweetheart, money talks louder than paper judges. I’m out on a medical furlough pending transfer. And I know where you are. I know about your little billionaire savior in his glass tower. But guess what? Glass towers break.”
“How did you get this number?” I screamed, panic overriding my reason. “How do you know where I am?!”
“I have friends in places you can't even imagine,” Travis hissed, his voice dropping into a venomous snarl. “Enjoy your view of the lake while you can, Camille. Because when I come for my girls and you, there won't be a bodyguard in the world fast enough to save you.”
Click.
The line went dead.
I stood frozen in the center of the kitchen, the phone shaking so violently in my hand I nearly dropped it. The room spun around me. The illusion of safety—the fortress, the guards, the federal indictments—evaporated in a single second.
Willa looked up from her painting, her big brown eyes wide with sudden fear.
“Mommy? Who was that on the phone? Why are you shaking?”
I dropped to my knees, sweeping Willa into my arms so hard she let out a surprised gasp, burying my face in her dark curls as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Nothing, baby,” I lied, my voice cracking horribly. “Nothing at all. Mommy’s right here.”
Within three minutes, Miller burst through the west wing security door, his face grim, a secure tablet clutched in his hand.
“Mrs. Ashford,” Miller said rapidly, his eyes scanning the room. “Mr. Moretti’s intelligence network just flagged an unauthorized breach on our encrypted comm channels. Did you just receive a call?”
“Yes,” I choked out, standing up while holding Willa tightly against my chest. “It was Travis. He’s out. He threatened us, Miller. He said he knows where we are!”
Miller’s expression hardened into granite. He tapped his earpiece sharply.
“Lock down the penthouse. Activate perimeter defense protocol zero-four. No one enters or leaves the building.”
May you like
He looked at me, his voice steady and absolute.
“Don't worry, Mrs. Ashford. Mr. Moretti is already on his way back. And this time, Travis Mercer won't just be going to prison. He won't even make it past the front gate.”
