Chapter 7 - Inside the Sanctuary
The apartment was small—a cramped one-bedroom with worn linoleum floors, faded floral wallpaper, and a single radiator that hissed rhythmically against the chill. But it was obsessively clean. Piles of children’s books sat neatly stacked beside a crib in the corner, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and baby formula.
Little Chloe was sitting up in her crib, rubbing her eyes with chubby fists, her dark curls tousled around her face.
When I stepped into the room, Elizabeth rushed over, scooping the toddler into her arms and holding her tightly against her chest, as if she expected me to reach out and snatch the child away.
Chloe peeked over her mother’s shoulder, her large gray-blue eyes fixing on me with that same unsettling, preternatural intensity I had seen in the restaurant.
“She looks like you,” I murmured, stepping closer, though I kept my hands firmly at my sides, terrified of frightening either of them.
“She has your stubbornness,” Elizabeth said coldly, walking over to the small wooden table by the window and setting Chloe in a high chair, where she immediately began playing with a wooden teething ring. Elizabeth turned back to face me, crossing her arms defensively. “Well? You’re here. You’ve seen how the other half lives. You’ve flexed your corporate muscle and bought my building. Are you going to hand me an eviction notice next, or do you want to write a check to clear your conscience?”
“Stop it, Elizabeth,” I said quietly.
“Stop what? Stop being angry that my life was upended by a man who couldn't love anything that didn't fit on a balance sheet?”
“I didn't come here to play games,” I said, taking a slow breath as I looked around the tiny apartment. “I came here because my daughter has been living in a drafty building while I sleep in a five-star suite. I came here because I walked away from the only real thing I ever had.”
“You didn't walk away, Julian. You ran,” she corrected sharply. “And you built a fortress of money so you wouldn't have to look back at the wreckage.”
She wasn't wrong. Every word she spoke was a mirror reflecting my own ugliness.
“Okay,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “You want me out of your hair? Fine. But you are not staying in this apartment. I’ve already had my team prepare a townhouse in Lincoln Park. Fully furnished, private security, secure nursery. You and Chloe are moving in today.”
Elizabeth let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Are you out of your damn mind? Move into your house? So what—you can play domestic hero on weekends when you’re not closing mergers in Dallas?”
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“No,” I said, stepping closer until only a few inches separated us. My voice was low, steady, and utterly resolute. “I’m moving in with you. Or rather, I’m moving into the guest room until you realize that I’m not walking away again. You can hate me, Elizabeth. You can despise everything I’ve become. But you are not shutting me out of my daughter’s life. And you are not working another shift as a waitress while I have the means to give her the world.”
Elizabeth stared at me, her gray-blue eyes burning with a mixture of fury, shock, and a deep, buried sorrow that tore me apart.
