Chapter 7 - The Shadow in the ArchivesEleanor Vance fled the gala within minutes, her social standing in ruins, leaving Grant and me alone in the eye of a glittering storm.
The next morning, the front page of every major newspaper in the Midwest featured a full-page photo of Grant and me entering the Drake Hotel, captioned: THE BILLIONAIRE'S NEW QUEEN: How Nora Lane Saved the Calloway Dynasty.
Back at the Lake Forest mansion, the atmosphere was lighter than it had ever been. Lily and Noah were actually laughing in the sunroom, their bright giggles echoing down the high-ceilinged corridors. I sat at the mahogany dining table reviewing the new household schedules, marveling at how drastically a single week could rewrite a life.
Then, my phone buzzed on the wood surface.
It was an unknown number, displaying a local Chicago area code.
I tapped the screen and answered. “Hello?”
“Nora Lane,” a raspy, unfamiliar voice whispered through the static. “You think you’re safe behind Grant Calloway’s iron gates? You think he loves you? He doesn't even know the real reason his first wife died.”
My breath hitched in my throat. “Who is this?”
“Ask him about Rebecca Calloway’s car accident three years ago,” the voice hissed maliciously. “Ask him who really cut the brake lines on her Mercedes before she drove off the cliff. Ask your precious billionaire savior who he was protecting when he covered up her murder.”
Click.
The line went dead.
I sat frozen, the phone trembling slightly in my hand. Rebecca Calloway? The first wife? The mother of Lily and Noah? The woman Vivian had tried so desperately to erase?
Before I could process the chilling implication, heavy footsteps echoed across the marble foyer, and Grant walked into the dining room. He looked tired, his tie loosened, but when his eyes landed on me, a tender smile broke across his face.
“Nora,” he said softly, walking over and resting his hands on the back of my chair. “You look pale. Is everything alright?”
I looked up at his striking, gray eyes—the eyes that had protected me, defended me, and looked at me with such fierce devotion. But the sinister whisper echoed in my head: Ask him who he was protecting.
May you like
“Grant,” I whispered, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. “We need to talk about Rebecca.”
Grant’s smile vanished instantly. The warmth in his gray eyes hardened into solid, impenetrable ice.
