Chapter 5 - Shadows in the East Wing
Three days later, the Greenwich estate was wrapped in a heavy, suffocating blanket of autumn fog.
Inside the massive master suite—now permanently outfitted with a state-of-the-art medical monitor, plush cashmere throws, and a rotating array of gourmet meals prepared by a private nutritionist—Grace Bennett sat propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows.
She wore a soft, oversized silk bathrobe that Grant had ordered specially for her from Milan. Her legs were stretched out on an ottoman, and a warm cup of organic chamomile tea sat steaming on the bedside table.
The door clicked open softly, and Grant walked in. He looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his hazel eyes, and his tie was gone entirely, his collar unbuttoned. But when he looked at Grace, his face softened into an expression of profound, aching gentleness.
“How are you feeling today?” Grant asked, walking over and pressing the back of his warm hand gently against her forehead.
Grace leaned into his touch instinctively, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I feel like a queen trapped in a golden cage, Mr. Whitmore. The doctors said I can finally walk around, but Marta won't even let me stand up to grab a glass of water.”
“Marta is right,” Grant smiled, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the bed. “You’re not a prisoner, Grace. You’re the guest of honor. And please, stop calling me Mr. Whitmore. It’s Grant.”
Grace blushed, looking down at her tea cup. “It feels strange. You’re the master of the house, and I’m just... well, I was just the maid.”
“You were never just anything, Grace,” Grant said softly, his voice dropping an octave as he reached out and took her small hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, sending a familiar, electric shiver straight up her arm. “From the first day you stepped into this house six months ago... from the moment I saw how you treated everyone with kindness, how you memorized my impossible schedule without ever complaining... I was captivated. Vanessa was a corporate transaction. You... you are the only real thing in this entire house.”
Grace’s breath caught. She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto his. “Grant... you can’t say things like that. We live in two different worlds. When the staff finds out—when Greenwich finds out—”
“Let them talk,” Grant interrupted, his grip tightening around her hand with fierce, unwavering conviction. “Let the whole world talk. I don't care about society, and I don't care about legacy. All I care about is you, and our baby.”
Before Grace could reply, a sudden, sharp sound echoed from down the long, winding hallway of the east wing.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
It sounded like hard-soled shoes hitting the antique hardwood floor outside the master suite. But the east wing was completely sealed off. Security was locked down tighter than a federal vault. No staff members were permitted up here without Marta’s direct escort, and Vanessa’s entire faction had been legally barred from coming within five miles of the estate.
Grace’s hand flew to her belly, her eyes widening in sudden terror. “Grant... did you hear that?”
Grant stood up instantly, his protective instincts flaring into overdrive. He stepped in front of the bed, his broad shoulders shielding Grace as his eyes fixed on the heavy double doors of the master suite.
The brass doorknob slowly, silently began to turn.
May you like
Click.
The door clicked open an inch, revealing a sliver of dark, empty hallway.
