Chapter 5 - The Move to the Gold Coast
By Tuesday morning, the world Lena Cruz knew had vanished entirely.
There were no more frantic calls to Mrs. Alvarez, no more agonizing calculations over whether she could afford a gallon of milk or a box of diapers, and no more dodging Diane’s toxic outbursts in the bustling kitchen of Calloway’s.
Instead, she stood in the center of a master suite that was larger than her entire former apartment, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Lake Michigan, where white-capped waves crashed against the icy shoreline.
The Vance estate on the Gold Coast was an architectural fortress disguised as a historic Gilded Age mansion. Surrounded by wrought-iron gates, ancient weeping willows, and private security guards who patrolled the perimeter like secret service agents, it was a world entirely detached from the chaos of the city.
A knock sounded at the heavy mahogany door of her suite.
“Come in,” Lena said, shifting Nora to her hip.
The door opened to reveal Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper of the estate—a severe-looking woman in her fifties with steel-grey hair pulled into a tight bun and an apron so crisp it looked like it had been ironed with a laser. But as Mrs. Gable’s eyes landed on Nora, her severe expression melted into a warm, crinkling smile.
“Good morning, Ms. Cruz,” Mrs. Gable said, her voice carrying a crisp British accent. “Mr. Vance asked me to check in on you. The nursery on the third floor has been fully prepared, and the pediatrician he retained for the estate is scheduled to arrive at two o'clock for Miss Nora’s routine checkup.”
Lena blinked, still trying to wrap her head around the sheer scale of the operation. “A private pediatrician? Mrs. Gable, you don't need to—I can take her to the community clinic—”
“Mr. Vance does not do ‘community clinics,’ my dear,” Mrs. Gable said gently, walking further into the room and gently brushing a finger against Nora’s cheek, making the baby giggle. “When the master decides to take care of someone, he does it thoroughly. Now, eat your breakfast. Mr. Vance requested your presence in his study at noon to review the estate management protocols.”
Lena nodded slowly, a strange mixture of awe and underlying unease settling in her chest.
At precisely twelve o'clock, Lena walked down the wide, carpeted corridor of the second floor, pushing open the double doors of Dante Vance’s private study.
The room was twice the size of the one beneath Calloway’s, filled with antique maps, leather armchairs, and a massive marble fireplace where a real fire crackled warmly. Dante sat behind a desk of carved walnut, reading through a stack of financial portfolios.
When he looked up, his amber eyes locked onto hers. He didn't smile, but the hard edge of his expression softened just a fraction.
“Did you sleep well, Ms. Cruz?” Dante asked, setting his pen down.
“Better than I have in a year,” Lena admitted honestly, stepping into the room. She kept Nora safely nestled in her arms, though the baby was sleeping peacefully now. “Though I still feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. People like you don't just rescue waitresses out of the goodness of your heart, Mr. Vance.”
Dante leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“Who said anything about the goodness of my heart?” Dante replied smoothly. “I told you, Ms. Cruz. I invest in assets that have untapped potential. And right now... you and your daughter are under my roof. Which means you are under my protection.”
May you like
He stood up, walking slowly around the desk until he was standing just a few feet away from her. The air between them suddenly felt charged, heavy with an electric tension that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with the undeniable pull between two very different worlds.
“And in Chicago,” Dante whispered, his voice low and intense, “no one dares touch what belongs to me.”
