Chapter 2 - The Collision
The doors to the maternity ward hissed open. I couldn't see the hallway from my bed, but I heard the shift in the atmosphere. Hospitals have a specific rhythm. Footsteps are hurried but soft. Voices are hushed. The footsteps approaching my room were neither. They were deliberate. Heavy. Unapologetic.
A shadow fell across the doorway before he stepped into the light. Adrian Cross. He was wearing a dark wool overcoat draped over a tailored charcoal suit that looked like it hadn't seen a wrinkle in its existence. His tie was loosened. His dark hair was slightly damp from the Chicago rain. He looked exactly like a man who had just left a high-stakes negotiation, which, knowing him, he probably had.
He didn't look at the nurses. He didn't look at the monitors. His striking, pale grey eyes locked onto mine immediately. "You drove yourself," he said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. "I didn't have much of a choice, Adrian." "You had a choice. You had a driver waiting two blocks from that penthouse for the last three weeks."
I stared at him. "You had someone following me?" "I had someone protecting you. There's a difference." He walked to the side of the bed. Up close, I could see the tension lining his jaw. The cold, calculated exterior that terrified the business world was cracking, just slightly, at the edges. He took off his overcoat and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Then, he pulled up a stool and sat beside me. He didn't ask for permission. He just claimed the space.
"How far apart?" he asked. "Three minutes," I gritted out, another wave of pain washing over me. I gripped the bedrails. A warm, large hand covered mine. I opened my eyes to see Adrian's fingers wrapping around my white-knuckled grip. "Breathe, Claire." His voice was steady. An anchor in a storm. "Don't tell me to breathe," I snapped, the pain peaking. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Fair enough. Tell me what happened."
Before I could answer, a new voice echoed down the corridor. Loud. Entitled. "I don't care about your protocols! I am the father. I demand to see my wife!" Grant. He had made it. And by the sound of the clicking heels behind him, Savannah had come too. My heart rate spiked on the monitor. The machine beeped in alarm. Adrian's eyes flicked to the screen, then back to my face. His expression hardened into something carved from granite. He stood up.
"Stay here," Adrian said, his voice dropping an octave. "Where else would I go?" I gasped. He didn't smile this time. He turned and walked to the door, filling the frame. I couldn't see Grant, but I could hear him perfectly. "Cross? What the hell are you doing here?" Grant's voice dripped with aristocratic disgust. "Visiting hours are over, Mercer," Adrian replied smoothly. "Get out of my way. That's my wife in there." "Ex-wife," Adrian corrected. "As of eleven days ago. I saw the paperwork. Tragic stuff." "She's carrying my heirs." "She's carrying human beings. Not stock options."
"I am her emergency contact," Grant yelled. "Not anymore," a nurse intervened gently but firmly. "Mr. Cross is listed on the paperwork. Mr. Mercer, you need to leave the restricted area." I heard Grant scoff. "You think you can play games with me, Claire?" he shouted over Adrian's shoulder. "You think sleeping with my rival is going to win you some kind of leverage?"
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Adrian didn't yell. He didn't need to. When Adrian spoke, the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. "Grant. Listen very closely. If you raise your voice at her again, I won't just take the riverfront project. I will dismantle Mercer Development brick by brick, and I will make sure your board knows exactly where the missing pension funds went." Silence. A thick, suffocating silence. "You have no proof," Grant finally hissed, his voice shaking. "Test me," Adrian whispered. "Walk away. Now."
I heard the sound of retreating footsteps. First heavy. Then the clicking heels. They were gone. Adrian stepped back into the room. He rolled his shoulders once, adjusting his cuffs, before returning to his stool. "Pension funds?" I asked, panting as another contraction began. He took my hand again. "A conversation for another time. Right now, your only job is these babies." And as the pain ripped through me again, I squeezed the hand of the most dangerous man in Chicago, realizing he was the only one keeping me safe.
