Chapter 7 - The Shadow of Chicago
Over the next two weeks, Harper learned what it meant to exist inside Gideon Locke’s orbit.
She wasn't allowed to return to her old apartment—not that she wanted to. Marcus and a team of quiet, efficient men had packed up every single one of her belongings, including her books, her clothes, and the duffel bag she had been packing the night Tyler attacked her, and relocated them to a secure, beautifully furnished brownstone in Lincoln Park.
The brownstone came equipped with a private security detail stationed quietly in a vehicle down the block, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that looked like it had been curated by a scholar.
Gideon visited her every single evening.
Sometimes he brought takeout from Chicago’s finest restaurants. Sometimes he sat silently in the corner while she watched television, reading reports on his tablet or reviewing business proposals for the legitimate half of his vast corporate empire—shipping, real estate, and financial logistics that masked the darker syndicate operations beneath.
Slowly, under the quiet protection of a man the city whispered about in fearful tones, Harper began to heal.
One evening, while Gideon was standing by the large bay window watching the rain sheet down against the glass, Harper looked up from her book.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.
Gideon didn't turn around immediately. He watched the headlights streak across the wet pavement below before answering.
“Because you were brave enough to ask for help,” Gideon said, turning to face her. “Most people don’t. They stay quiet. They make excuses for the monsters in their homes until there’s nothing left of them.”
“I was terrified,” Harper said, looking down at her hands, where the faint bruise on her knuckle from the broken beer bottle was still fading to a pale yellow. “I still am, sometimes. Every time I hear a door slam, or footsteps in the hall... I expect him to walk in.”
Gideon crossed the room in three long strides. He sat down on the edge of the sofa beside her, his presence warm and grounding.
“He won't,” Gideon said, his voice dropping into a low, absolute vow. “No one will ever cross a threshold you’re behind again, Harper. Not while I’m breathing.”
Harper looked up into his eyes, feeling a strange, terrifying warmth bloom in her chest—something entirely separate from gratitude, something deeper and far more dangerous.
May you like
“You talk like you own the city, Gideon,” she whispered, a faint smile touching the corner of her lips.
“I own the parts of it that matter,” he replied, a rare, ghost-like smile touching his own mouth. “And right now, that includes this room.”
