Chapter 2 - The First-Class Offer
Four days ago.
The words echoed in my head like a tolling bell.
Four days ago, while I was watching my daughter bleed on a rug in Ohio, this man’s world had been shattered in a flash of violence or tragedy. A shared timeline of total destruction, separated by thousands of miles, converging in the middle of the night thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean.
The infant—whose name I would soon learn was Leo—let out another desperate, breathless cry, his tiny body shuddering against his father’s chest.
“He’s losing stamina,” I said instantly, my nursing training kicking in completely. “If he keeps crying like this, he’s going to hyperventilate and dehydrate. He needs to calm down now.”
The father looked at me, his icy defense melting into pure, unadulterated terror. “Can you help him?”
“I can,” I said softly. “If you trust me.”
The guard, Mark, leaned down. “Mr. Vance, we don't know who she is. We haven't run a background check—”
“Mark, shut up,” the man said flatly. He looked at me, holding my gaze. “My name is Julian Vance. Please... help my son.”
Vance. The name sent a tiny jolt through my head, but in my exhausted state, I couldn't place it.
Julian carefully unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, placing the writhing baby into my arms. The moment Leo’s tiny, hot body touched my chest, his cries shifted from screams to ragged whimpers. I sat down in the vacant seat across from Julian, turned away from the aisle, and unbuttoned my cardigan.
I guided tiny Leo to my breast.
The second his lips found the warm skin, his tiny hands clamped onto my sweater. He began to nurse with a fierce, ravenous desperation. Within thirty seconds, the cabin—which had been tormented by hours of shrieking—fell into absolute, blessed silence. Only the soft, rhythmic sounds of Leo swallowing echoed in the small space.
Julian Vance collapsed back into his seat. He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking silently.
Mark stood guard at the front of the cabin, his posture rigid, but his eyes softened as he watched the scene unfold.
I gently stroked the soft, peach-fuzz hair on top of Leo’s head. Tears pricked my own eyes. I was nursing a stranger’s motherless child over the ocean, fleeing from a monster who was probably at this very moment filing a police report in Columbus claiming I had kidnapped his daughter.
Ten minutes passed. Leo’s frantic feeding slowed into a comforting, slow rhythm. His tiny eyes fluttered shut, heavy with utter exhaustion, and his warm body relaxed completely against me.
Julian lowered his hands. He watched his son sleep against my chest with an expression that was terrifyingly intense.
“Who are you?” Julian asked, his voice low and commandingly quiet.
“Claire,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on Leo. “Claire Bennett.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“Labor and delivery. Six years at Ohio Health.”
Julian nodded slowly. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek silver pen, and adjusted his cuffs. Even in his grief, there was an unmistakable aura of extreme power and wealth surrounding him.
“You’re traveling alone?” he asked.
“With my daughter,” I replied, nodding toward the curtain. “She’s asleep in 27B.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was a man accustomed to reading people, assessing risks, and spotting anomalies. He looked at my faded canvas shoes, my cheap, scuffed carry-on bag visible near the galley, and the subtle, anxious way I kept glancing back toward the curtain.
“Where are you headed in Rome, Claire?”
I swallowed down a lump of anxiety. “Just... visiting family.”
“Where do you live in Italy?”
“We’re going to be staying near the Trastevere district,” I lied smoothly, not wanting to admit I was heading to a roach-infested couch owned by a cousin I hadn't seen since I was twelve.
Julian didn't look convinced, but he didn't press. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“My wife, Elena, died four days ago in a hit-and-run in Chicago,” Julian said, his voice flat, stripped of all emotion as if he were reading a police report. “She was the only one who could soothe Leo. Since she passed, he hasn't slept more than twenty minutes at a time. He refused every formula. The pediatricians said he was entering a state of high stress.”
“He was grieving,” I said softly. “Babies know scent. They know sound. He lost his world.”
“And you just gave it back to him,” Julian said.
Leo let go of me, fully asleep, his tiny thumb tucked securely into his mouth. I carefully rebuttoned my blouse, burped him gently against my shoulder, and passed the sleeping boy back into Julian’s arms.
Julian held his son with a reverence that hit me right in the chest. He looked up at me.
“I need you, Claire.”
I paused. “Excuse me?”
“I am flying to my estate in Tuscany after a brief layover in Rome,” Julian said briskly. “I have a team of nannies, but none of them can give Leo what you just gave him. I want to hire you as his full-time private nurse and surrogate wet-nurse for the next three months.”
I blinked, stunned. “I... I can’t do that. I have a daughter—”
“Bring her,” Julian interrupted without missing a beat. “My estate, Villa Vance, has twenty-four bedrooms, a private medical facility, full security, and a private chef. I will pay you ten thousand dollars a month. In cash or wire transfer to any offshore account you choose.”
My heart stopped beating. Ten thousand dollars a month.
That wasn't just money. That was freedom. That was a legal team to fight Richard. That was safety for Maya.
“Why would you offer that to a complete stranger on a plane?” I asked, suspicion tightening my chest.
May you like
Julian looked down at his sleeping son, then back at me. His gray eyes were cold as steel, yet filled with an unbreakable vow.
“Because my wife didn't die in an accident, Claire,” Julian whispered, leaning so close only I could hear. “She was murdered. And until I find the people who did it, my son is in danger. You just saved his life. Which means I’m going to protect yours.”
