Chapter 2 - The Midnight Escape Through Meridian Tower and the Terrifying Truth About Marcus Vance
The service elevator was descending rapidly, plunging us from the forty-fifth floor down into the subterranean depths of Meridian Tower.
Inside the small metal box, the air felt thick and electric.
Chase stood directly in front of me, his broad shoulders shielding me from the two security guards who kept their eyes locked on the digital floor numbers ticking downward.
My mind was racing a million miles an hour.
Marcus Vance.
The name alone was enough to send a cold shiver down my spine.
Vance was Chase’s primary corporate rival—a ruthless, older billionaire who had spent the last two years trying hostile takeovers, weaponizing federal regulators, and allegedly eliminating anyone who stood in the way of his monopoly.
“How did Vance know you were here?” I whispered, grabbing the fabric of Chase’s sleeve as the elevator jolted slightly.
“He didn't know I was here,” Chase replied, his eyes fixed on the closed metal doors.
“He was tracking financial movements in the upper-floor executive suites. My presence tonight was off the books. But if Vance’s security detail saw my car parked in the underground garage, they would have alerted him immediately.”
“And if they saw me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“If they saw you with me, Claire, you would instantly become a target,” Chase said, turning his head to look down at me with fierce, uncompromising intensity.
“Marcus Vance doesn't fight clean. If he knows I have a weakness—if he knows I have a woman carrying my child—he will use you to destroy me.”
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the vast, dimly lit expanse of the underground private parking garage.
Rows of sleek, high-end luxury vehicles stretched into the shadows, flanked by concrete pillars.
As we stepped out of the service bay, the unmistakable roar of an engine revving echoed off the concrete walls near the exit ramp.
“Sir!” one of the guards shouted, drawing his firearm as two black SUVs rounded the corner with their headlights blazing, blocking our only route out.
“Ambush! Get down!”
Before I could even scream, Chase grabbed my waist with one arm, shielding me against his chest, and hauled me behind a thick concrete structural pillar.
Tires squealed against the pavement.
Doors slammed shut.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the garage floor.
“Chase Rowe!” a cold, smooth voice rang out from the shadows near the black SUVs, carrying an amused, taunting edge.
“Working late on a Wednesday night? Or are you just inspecting the cleaning staff?”
I froze against Chase’s side, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
Chase didn't flinch.
He slowly stepped out from behind the pillar, keeping me safely tucked behind him, his dark suit blending into the shadows.
“Marcus,” Chase replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register that made the hair on the back of my arms stand up.
“You’re a long way from your Madison Avenue penthouse. Lost your way?”
A tall, silver-haired man in an expensive cashmere overcoat stepped into the pool of yellow overhead light, a thin, predatory smile playing across his lips.
Marcus Vance.
He looked older than his photographs, with sharp, bird-like features and cold, calculating eyes that swept over Chase before darting toward the shadow where I was hiding.
“I heard rumors that the great Chase Rowe was slipping,” Marcus mocked, taking a slow step forward.
“Spotted lingering around corporate offices after hours. I just wanted to see if the ghost stories were true. Who’s your friend, Chase? Don’t tell me the billionaire bachelor has finally found someone worth hiding in the basement.”
Chase’s hand subtly drifted toward his inner jacket pocket, though his expression remained completely unreadable.
“Stay out of my way, Marcus,” Chase warned quietly.
“This isn’t a boardroom. And if you take another step closer, you’re not going to like what happens next.”
Marcus laughed, a dry, grating sound, but he raised his hands mockingly.
“Relax, Chase. I’m just taking a stroll. Enjoy your night.”
With a flick of his wrist, Marcus turned back toward his SUV, sliding into the back seat as the doors slammed shut and the vehicles sped away into the rainy night.
Chase didn't let down his guard until the taillights vanished up the exit ramp.
He turned back to me, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying mix of relief and absolute rage.
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“We are going to my place,” Chase said, grabbing my hand with an iron grip.
“And you are never, ever cleaning another building again.”
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