The Midnight Rescue in Elevator 4: How Cracking the Billionaire CEO’s Ribs and Bringing Him Back to Life Made Me an Outcast in His High-Society World and the Target of a Deadly Conspiracy

The transition from a drafty, mouse-infested basement apartment in Pilsen to the executive residential penthouse on the forty-eighth floor of Meridian Tower felt like stepping onto a different planet.

The penthouse was larger than my entire old apartment building, featuring minimalist modern decor, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline of Chicago, and a walk-in closet stocked with designer clothes that still had their tags attached.

“Mr. Bennett’s orders,” Victoria Vance, his chief of staff, had told me smoothly when she dropped me off earlier that afternoon, handing me a sleek black smartphone and a set of master keys.

“He expects you downstairs in his private office by 6:00 p.m. sharp. Don't be late.”

I stood in the center of the expansive marble kitchen, staring out at the snow falling over Lake Michigan, still trying to process how my life had unraveled and rebuilt itself in less than forty-eight hours.

Yesterday, I was scrubbing gum off baseboards in the basement parking garage.

Today, I was a private medical coordinator living in a multi-million-dollar penthouse, eating organic fruit out of a silver bowl.

And my new boss was a terrifying, brooding billionaire who had already made an enemy of his powerful fiancée just by letting me breathe the same air.

I changed into a simple black blazer and tailored trousers that miraculously fit my frame—courtesy of Lucas’s terrifyingly efficient staff—and took the private elevator down to the forty-fifth floor.

The executive offices were vast, quiet, and dominated by dark mahogany wood and modern art.

When I pushed open the door to Lucas’s private office, he wasn't sitting behind his massive glass desk.

He stood by the window, staring out at the city, holding a crystal glass of amber liquid.

He turned as I entered, his eyes scanning my new attire with a slow, appraising gaze.

“The clothes fit,” he observed.

“Your staff has terrifyingly fast measurements,” I replied, keeping my distance.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Bennett?”

“Lucas,” he corrected, setting his glass down on the sill and walking over.

“We are going to be working in extremely close proximity, Bailey. ‘Mr. Bennett’ sounds entirely too formal for a woman who has literally had her hands inside my chest cavity.”

I flushed, looking down at the floor.

“Right. Lucas.”

“Good,” he said, pulling a tablet from his desk and handing it to me.

“I want you to review my daily health logs, monitor my heart rate via the wearable telemetry band I’m wearing, and accompany me to the corporate gala downstairs tonight.”

I looked up sharply.

“A corporate gala? Tonight? You were in the ICU less than twenty-four hours ago!”

“Which is precisely why I need my personal medical coordinator by my side,” Lucas countered smoothly, a dangerous smile touching his lips.

“Besides, tonight is the annual Meridian winter gala. Every board member, major investor, and political heavyweight in Illinois will be there. Including Claire.”

“And you want me there as your shield?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“I want you there as my reality check,” Lucas corrected softly, stepping closer.

“Everyone in that room wears a mask, Bailey. They smile while they stab you in the back. You’re the only person in this building who doesn't care about my money, my power, or my empire.”