Chapter 7 - Sanctuary in the East Wing
The east wing medical suite felt more like a five-star luxury hotel than a recovery ward.
Warm amber light filtered through heavy velvet drapes, illuminating the plush cream-colored sofa where Hannah Walsh lay resting under a cashmere quilt.
Dr. Harris packed his silver stethoscope back into his leather bag, turning with a reassuring smile.
"Your blood pressure has stabilized, Hannah," the physician said softly.
"The trauma from earlier is subsiding, and the baby's heart rate is strong and steady."
Hannah pulled the quilt closer to her chin, her eyes still carrying the ghost of terror from the nursery.
"Will I... will I be safe here, Doctor?"
"Mr. Moretti does not make promises he cannot keep, my dear," Dr. Harris answered, patting her shoulder gently.
"You are safer inside these walls than anywhere else in the state of Illinois."
As the doctor stepped out into the hallway, the heavy oak door opened again.
Lauren Mitchell stood on the threshold, leaning heavily on her titanium crutch, her left leg encased in a rigid white support brace.
"Hannah?" Lauren whispered, stepping cautiously into the room.
"Lauren!" Hannah sat up quickly, swinging her legs over the edge of the couch.
"Should you even be walking on that leg? Dr. Harris said you got ten staples!"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Lauren breathed out, lowering herself carefully into an armchair opposite the sofa.
"I just... I needed to see for myself that you were okay."
Tears welled up in Hannah's blue eyes once more.
"If you hadn't opened that door... if you hadn't fought Vanessa off me—"
"Don't talk about that monster," Lauren interrupted, reaching across the small table to squeeze Hannah's trembling hand.
"We're out of her reach now."
"Mr. Moretti took care of everything."
Hannah looked down at her hands, her expression turning sorrowful.
"I was so stupid, Lauren."
"I let desperation cloud my judgment."
"I thought I was just helping a wealthy woman who couldn't have children."
"I never imagined she was building a cage for both of us."
"Greed makes people blind," Lauren said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the high arched windows overlooking the snowy courtyard.
"My mother always told me that true poverty isn't having an empty wallet."
"It's having an empty soul."
The door clicked open once more, and both women turned in unison.
Luca Moretti stepped into the suite.
He had removed his suit jacket, his white dress shirt open at the collar, rolling up his sleeves to reveal muscular forearms covered in faint, faded scars.
"How is the patient?" Luca asked, his voice losing its customary executive edge when addressing them.
"I'm much better, Mr. Moretti," Hannah murmured, looking down respectfully.
"Thank you... for everything."
Luca nodded, then turned his dark gaze toward Lauren.
"And you, Miss Mitchell."
"You should be in bed, not roaming the corridors on crutches."
"I wanted to check on Hannah, sir," Lauren said, meeting his intense gaze without flinching.
"And I wanted to make sure you were holding up after everything that happened tonight."
Luca walked slowly toward her chair, stopping just a foot away.
The air between them seemed to charge with an unspoken tension, heavy with shared secrets and mutual respect.
"I am holding up quite well, Lauren," Luca said softly, his eyes searching her pale, tired face.
May you like
"Better than I was three hours ago."
"Because now I know who my enemies are."
