Chapter 5 - The Velvet Cage Opens
The estate on the North Shore was a fortress disguised as a historic stone mansion, nestled behind towering iron gates and a thick perimeter of ancient pines.
When the Mercedes pulled up to the grand double doors, a team of medical professionals was already waiting. Within minutes, Evelyn found herself seated in a softly lit, wood-paneled study while a quiet, professional doctor gently examined her ribs, cleaned the cut on her mouth, and applied soothing ointments to her bruises.
Dante stood near the towering stone fireplace, staring into the flickering flames, giving her space while remaining close enough to protect her.
"You have two fractured ribs, severe bruising, and exhaustion," the doctor said quietly, packing away her instruments. "I’ve prescribed pain medication and strict bed rest for the next week. No stress, no sudden movements."
"Thank you, Doctor," Evelyn murmured.
After the medical team packed up and left the room, silence settled over the vast study. The fire popped and hissed, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany bookshelves.
Dante walked over, carrying a steaming mug of tea—chamomile, without the broken porcelain and spilled blood of a few hours ago. He placed it gently on the small table beside her chair.
"You should rest," Dante said, his tone commanding yet gentle. "Your room is down the hall. Everything you need—clothes, books, toiletries—has already been provided."
Evelyn looked up at him, the weight of her entire life shifting beneath her feet. For three years, she had been a prisoner in a glass penthouse. Now, she was in a mansion owned by the most feared man in Chicago, treated with a level of respect and protection she had never known.
"Why are you doing this, Dante?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. "Really. Beyond the debt. Beyond my father."
Dante looked down at her, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, he walked over to the desk, picked up a single sheet of paper, and handed it to her.
Evelyn took it. Her eyes scanned the printed text.
It was a flight itinerary. To Zurich. Dated for tomorrow morning.
"What is this?" she asked, confused.
"It’s a ticket out," Dante said quietly. "A new passport, accounts set up in Geneva under your mother’s maiden name, and a villa waiting for you in the Swiss Alps. You can leave the moment the sun comes up. You never have to look back at Chicago, at Grant, or at any of this again."
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Evelyn stared at the paper. For three years, freedom was all she had prayed for. It was the only dream that kept her alive on that cold kitchen floor.
So why did the thought of walking away leave a cold, hollow ache in her chest?
