Chapter 3 - Inside the Vance Estate
The ride in the back of the armored security vehicle was a blur of sterile warmth and muffled panic. Paramedics worked furiously over little Chloe, hooking her up to IV drips and monitoring her spiking temperature, while Julian sat opposite them, his hand locked around his daughter’s small, uninjured ankle as if anchoring her to the earth.
He didn't look at his phone once. His eyes remained fixed on Chloe until the vehicle rolled through a set of massive iron gates that looked like they belonged to a European estate rather than a property twenty minutes outside the city.
The Vance Manor was a sprawling fortress of glass, slate, and ancient stone, illuminated by soft landscape lighting. As soon as the vehicle stopped, medical staff rushed Chloe toward a private, wing-sized medical suite equipped like a mini-hospital. Julian started to follow, but paused at the double doors, turning back to look at Naomi, who stood awkwardly in the grand foyer, still wrapped in his oversized cashmere coat.
"Get her to the East Wing guest suite," Julian ordered a middle-aged woman in a crisp housekeeper’s uniform who had appeared silently out of nowhere. "Have Dr. Hayes examine her immediately. Warm clothes, hot meal, and anything else she needs."
"Yes, Mr. Vance," the woman said, her eyes turning to Naomi with immediate, professional kindness. "Right this way, miss."
"Wait," Naomi said, stepping back, clutching the coat tighter. "I—I should go. I have a class at the bookstore at nine, and my roommate—"
Julian turned back, his gaze softening just a fraction, though the absolute stubbornness in his jaw remained absolute. "Your roommate can wait, and the bookstore can find someone else for today. You spent the night freezing in a warehouse protecting my daughter. The least I can do is make sure you don't die of pneumonia. Let the doctors check you out. We'll talk later."
Before Naomi could argue, he turned and disappeared through the medical doors.
The guest suite assigned to her was larger than Naomi’s entire apartment. Hardwood floors, a king-sized bed with crisp white linens, a fireplace already crackling with warm flames, and a marble bathroom stocked with luxury toiletries.
An hour later, after a thorough checkup by a gentle physician who declared Naomi mostly suffering from exhaustion, dehydration, and mild hypothermia, a tray of hot soup and fresh tea was left by her bedside. She ate ravenously, the reality of the past twelve hours washing over her in heavy, exhausting waves.
She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the safety of the mansion, completely unaware of the tempest brewing in the rest of the estate.
When she woke up, the afternoon sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Someone had left a fresh set of clothes — soft loungewear that fit her perfectly — folded neatly on a chair.
As she stepped out of her suite into the high-ceilinged hallway, a soft voice caught her attention.
"She's awake, Mr. Vance."
Naomi turned to see the housekeeper, whose name tag read Mrs. Gable, standing near a sunlit parlor. Behind her stood Julian Vance, looking less like a frantic father and more like the billionaire titan who commanded boardrooms across the globe.
"Naomi," Julian said, stepping forward. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm... I'm fine. Really," Naomi said, self-consciously smoothing down the soft fabric of the loungewear. "How is Chloe?"
A slow, profoundly exhausted smile touched the corners of Julian's mouth. "Her fever broke an hour ago. Dr. Hayes says she's going to make a full recovery. She's resting now, but before she fell asleep... she asked about you."
May you like
Naomi’s breath hitched. "She did?"
"She wants to see her 'jacket lady,'" Julian said quietly, stepping closer. "And frankly... I need to talk to you about what happened last night. Because the police are tearing that warehouse apart right now, and what you stumbled into is much bigger than a simple kidnapping."
