Chapter 3 - Shadows Over the Lake
I took the job.
I wasn’t an idiot. Pride didn’t pay for immunoglobulin infusions, and self-righteousness didn't keep a roof over my mother’s head.
By nine o'clock the following morning, a private courier had delivered three months' worth of Evelyn Carter’s medications directly to her small apartment in Ravenswood. Her medical bills at Northwestern had been wiped clean, showing a zero balance with a notation: *Paid in Full – Voss Foundation Corporate Account.*
When I visited my mother that morning before reporting to the Voss estate, she was sitting up in bed, color returning to her cheeks for the first time in months. She hugged me tightly, crying into my shoulder, asking how on earth I had secured such an incredible administrative role at a high-end foundation.
I lied to her. I told her I was managing donor relations for an elite arts charity. I couldn't bear to tell her that the medicine saving her life was bought with money forged in Chicago's criminal underworld.
By noon, I was back at the Voss manor.
The estate was a masterclass in quiet, lethal luxury. While the interior boasted priceless oil paintings, soaring marble ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grey, crashing waves of Lake Michigan, there were subtle reminders everywhere of who Adrian Voss truly was. The glass in the windows was two inches thick and ballistic-grade. Every security camera at the perimeters moved with algorithmic precision. And the men patrolling the manicured grounds didn't wear gardening gloves—they wore tailored suits with discreet bulges beneath their left armpits.
"Don't mind the shadows, Sophie dear," Helena said cheerfully, pouring chamomile tea from an antique silver teapot in the sunroom. "Adrian thinks if he puts enough armed men in the bushes, he can keep the world from hurting us. He’s a foolish boy, but his heart is in the right place."
"He doesn't seem very foolish to me, Mrs. Ellis," I admitted, taking a delicate porcelain cup. "He seems... calculating."
"He had to become that way," Helena said, her warm eyes softening with a distant, painful memory. "When his parents died in that 'accident' twenty years ago, Adrian was only twelve. The vultures descended on the Voss family shipping empire. They tried to tear him apart, steal his inheritance, put him in the ground. I raised him as best I could, but the streets of this city forced him to grow claws. He had to become a monster so the other monsters wouldn't devour him."
She reached across the glass table and gently patted my hand.
"You aren't afraid of him, though," Helena noted, a knowing smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "I saw how you looked at him yesterday. Most people grovel. You stood there like a little lioness."
"I was too broke to care," I muttered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the sunroom clicked open. Marcus entered, his expression tight, followed by Adrian.
Adrian was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, his overcoat draped over his forearm. He looked tired, a faint tension tightening the muscles of his jaw. But the moment his eyes landed on me, sitting in the sunlight with a teacup in hand, his expression softened by a fraction.
"Aunt Helena. Sophie," Adrian greeted.
Hearing my first name roll off his tongue in that deep, gravelly voice sent a sudden, unwanted jolt through my stomach.
"Marcus," Adrian commanded quietly without turning his head. "Wait outside."
Marcus gave a short nod and pulled the doors shut.
Adrian walked over to the table and dropped a heavy leather binder in front of me. "Your schedule for the next three weeks. Aunt Helena has medical follow-ups, a charity board meeting for the Children's Memorial Fund, and tomorrow evening, a gala at the Drake Hotel."
"The Drake?" I blinked. "That's an exclusive black-tie event. I'm just her companion. Surely she doesn't need me there."
"She does," Adrian said smoothly. "And so do I."
"You?" I looked up at him. "Why would you need me at a gala?"
Adrian pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on the table. "The gala is hosted by the Vance family. Viktor Vance controls the logistics along the Calumet river ports. We are currently negotiating a... territorial dispute. Viktor expects me to bring a traditional date—some socialite who can be intimidated or bought off."
He locked his gaze onto mine, piercing and uncompromising.
"I need someone beside me who doesn't frighten easily. Someone who can observe the room while I handle business. You'll be my official guest."
"Adrian, she isn't a bodyguard," Helena scolded. "She's a young woman, not one of your soldiers."
"She isn't a soldier, Aunt Helena. She's smarter than that," Adrian replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "Well, Miss Carter? Can you handle an evening among wolves in silk ties?"
I stared at him, feeling that familiar spark of defiance flare to life. He was testing me. He wanted to see if I’d crack under the weight of his high-society underworld.
"I spent two years dealing with entitled billionaires throwing tantrums over cold soup, Mr. Voss," I said coolly. "I think I can handle a few wolves."
Adrian’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that made my pulse race erratically.
"Good," he said, rising to his feet. "Marcus will take you into the city this afternoon. Get yourself a dress. Something black. Charge it to my account."
Before I could protest that I could buy my own dress, Adrian turned and walked toward the study. But as he reached the doorway, he paused, looking over his shoulder.
"And Sophie?"
"Yes?"
"Stay away from the eastern terrace after dark. We have uninvited guests watching the perimeter."
My teacup froze halfway to my mouth. The idyllic illusion of the sunroom shattered instantly.
"Uninvited guests?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
May you like
"Viktor Vance’s scouts," Adrian said, his tone chillingly casual, as if discussing a rainy forecast. "They want to see who I'm protecting. Sleep with your bedroom door locked tonight."
***
