Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Estate
Three weeks later, against all medical odds—and strictly due to her own fierce willpower—Mara was cleared to leave the private wing of the hospital.
She didn't leave in a wheelchair pushed to a curb. She was escorted out through a private underground garage by six armed men in dark suits, led personally by Adrian. A sleek, bulletproof silver limousine waited for them.
When the car finally pulled through a set of massive wrought-iron gates on the outskirts of the city, Mara leaned her forehead against the tinted glass. Beyond the stone walls lay a vast, breathtaking estate surrounded by ancient oak trees, rolling green lawns, and manicured rose gardens. The main house was a sprawling European-style stone manor that looked like a fortress built for royalty.
"This is home," Adrian said quietly from the leather seat across from her.
"Adrian... this is too much," Mara stammered, looking down at her clean, soft cashmere sweater and tailored pants—clothing that had been prepared specifically in her size. "I don't belong in a place like this."
"You belong wherever you are safe," he replied simply.
The limousine pulled up to the main grand entrance. The heavy double doors swung open, and standing on the front porch was a elderly housekeeper in a sharp uniform, alongside a tall, stern man in a dark trench coat who scanned the surrounding treeline with hawkish eyes.
Her name was Mrs. Gable, the house manager, and the man was Viktor, Adrian’s head of security.
As Adrian helped Mara down from the vehicle, Viktor stepped forward. His face was scarred, his demeanor cold and lethal. He looked down at Mara, his sharp eyes lingering on the way she guarded her healing side.
Then, to Mara’s utter astonishment, Viktor—a man who looked as though he feared nothing on earth—placed a heavy fist over his heart and bowed his head deeply toward her.
"Madam Ellis," Viktor said, his Russian-accented voice thick with genuine reverence. "It is an honor. The men and I owe you a debt we can never repay. You did what we were seconds too late to do."
"I... please, you don't need to bow," Mara said, flustered.
"He means it, Mara," Adrian murmured, guiding her gently inside. "In my world, loyalty written in blood is the only currency that matters. You gave yours to protect a child. To every man in this house, you are sacred."
They stepped into the grand foyer, where chandelier light reflected off polished marble floors. But before Mara could soak in the grand scale of the manor, a small, rhythmic sound echoed down the hallway.
Whirrrrr-click. Whirrrrr-click.
A motorized, modern wheelchair came around the corner. Sitting in it was Clara.
The little girl was no longer wearing the oversized, rain-soaked coat. She wore a bright yellow dress, her pale brown hair pulled back in a neat braid. Although she still wore thin nasal tubing connected to a compact oxygen tank on the back of her chair, her cheeks had color, and her large brown eyes were bright.
Clara stopped her chair a few feet away. She looked at Mara, then down at Mara’s boots, and then back up into Mara’s eyes.
"Are you the angel?" Clara asked, her voice small, melodic, and completely earnest.
Mara felt a sudden lump form in her throat. She slowly sank down onto one knee, ignoring the dull ache in her healing ribs. "No, sweetie," Mara whispered softly, a warm smile breaking across her face for the first time in two years. "I'm just Mara."
Clara reached out her small, frail hand and touched Mara’s cheek. "Papa said an angel grabbed me when the bad noises happened. He said you got hurt so I wouldn't."
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"I'm all better now," Mara lied gently, wrapping her hand over Clara’s tiny fingers. "And nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again."
Clara smiled—a brilliant, dazzling smile that lit up the dimly lit marble foyer. From a few steps behind them, Adrian stood with his hands tucked in his pockets, watching the two of them. For the first time in many years, the hard, lethal lines of his face relaxed into absolute warmth.
