Chapter 14 - The Madison Avenue Sunrise
The grand opening of the Whitfield-Cole Rehabilitation Center on Madison Avenue was not featured on the front page of the tabloids, much to Damian’s relief. There were no armed guards in tactical gear standing outside the glass doors, no whispers of underground syndicates or burning warehouses.
Instead, the sidewalk was lined with floral arrangements sent by local hospitals, former patients, and Margaret Cole herself.
Elena stood in the center of the pristine, sunlit lobby, wearing a crisp white lab coat over a navy silk dress. Her hair was pulled back in a neat clip, and her stethoscope hung around her neck like a badge of honor.
The glass front doors chimed as they slid open.
Damian walked in. He wore a tailored charcoal suit—no tie, his collar open—carrying a single white rose wrapped in silver ribbon.
The clinic staff discreetly drifted toward the back offices, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet lobby.
“Well, Director Whitfield,” Damian said, stopping two feet away, a slow, appreciative smile curving his lips. “I must say, the aesthetics are significantly warmer than your old office in Queens.”
“That’s because I didn't let you pick the paint colors,” Elena retorted, taking the white rose from his hand and tracing the soft petals with her fingertips.
“I offered to hire an interior designer.”
“And I told you that minimalist chrome prison cells don't help stroke victims recover their motor skills.”
Damian chuckled, stepping closer until his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He looked around the bright, high-ceilinged room—at the state-of-the-art rehabilitation equipment, the polished oak floors, the framed photographs of patients smiling as they took their first unassisted steps.
“Your father would have been proud of this,” Damian said softly, his voice losing its usual protective armor.
Elena looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “He would have said I was working too hard.”
“He would have been right.” Damian reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Which is why I’m officially invoking my executive authority as your fiancé to drag you away from here at 5:00 PM sharp.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. We have a rehearsal dinner to attend in Oyster Bay, and my mother has threatened to disinherit us both if we’re late for the cake tasting.”
May you like
Elena laughed—a bright, ringing sound that echoed off the high glass windows of the clinic. She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down until her lips met his in a warm, lingering kiss that tasted of absolute peace.
“Lead the way, Mr. Cole,” she whispered against his mouth.
