Chapter 3 - I'm giving him a voice, Mr. Mercer,
A shadow fell over the rug.
If the security cameras in the library had captured that exact, paradigm-shifting fraction of a second—they would have documented the collision of two entirely different worlds. In the image, I am kneeling on the ornate carpet in a simple white cardigan, holding Noah's small hand as he clutches his brown bear, a gentle, encouraging smile on my face. And standing directly behind us, framed by the roaring fireplace, is Damian Mercer. He is wearing a tailored black three-piece suit, looking down at us not with the terrifying wrath of a crime boss who just caught a maid breaking his only rule, but with a look of absolute, stunned awe.
"What are you doing to my son?" Damian's voice was a low rumble, dangerous and completely devoid of warmth.
I didn't let go of Noah's hand. I slowly looked up at the most dangerous man in Chicago.
"I'm giving him a voice, Mr. Mercer," I said evenly. "Because the one he has right now is too broken to use."
The two armed guards stepping into the doorway reached for their weapons, waiting for the order to drag me out.
Damian stared at my hands, then down at his son. Noah wasn't crying. Noah wasn't hiding. For the first time in almost a year, Noah was looking at another human being with connection instead of fear.
May you like
Damian raised one hand, silently commanding the guards to step back.
"Show me," Damian ordered.
