Chapter 7 - Ghosts of the Past
Months passed, turning the bitter Chicago winter into a crisp, blooming spring, and then into a warm, humid summer. Ava grew from a fragile infant into a joyful, toddling little girl who took her first tentative steps across the plush Persian rug of my third-floor suite while Reed watched from the doorway with a rare, quiet smile.
My life had transformed completely. I was no longer just surviving; I was thriving. I managed Callaway’s vast financial network, wore tailored designer suits purchased with my generous salary, and walked through the restaurant with an air of absolute confidence. The staff respected me, Tommy protected me like an older brother, and Reed... Reed had become something I never expected: a constant presence in my life, a protector, and a partner in every sense of the word.
Yet, shadows from my old life were not finished haunting me.
It happened on a warm Friday evening in July. The restaurant was bustling, and I was standing near the main entrance reviewing a reservation list when the front doors swung open. A familiar voice echoed through the foyer—loud, arrogant, and dripping with misplaced charm.
“Yeah, I need a table for two. Best spot in the house. And tell the kitchen my steak better be comped, I’m an old friend of the management.”
My blood ran ice cold.
I froze, slowly raising my eyes from the clipboard. Standing by the host stand was Marcus—my ex-boyfriend, Ava’s biological father, the man who had abandoned me and our unborn child to sell solar panels in Phoenix and left us with negative eleven dollars in the bank.
He looked older, wearing a cheap suit and flashing the same artificial smile that had once deceived me.
Before the host could respond, I stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice cutting through the lobby like a blade of steel.
He spun around, his eyes widening in shock as he took in my expensive tailored blazer, my poised posture, and the undeniable aura of authority I now carried.
“L-Elena? Is that you?” Marcus stammered, his jaw dropping. “What the hell happened to you? Last I heard, you were living in a rat-infested basement crying about rent!”
“Things change,” I replied coldly, stepping closer until he flinched. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in town for a convention!” Marcus recovered his swagger, puffing out his chest. “Look, babe, I see you’ve landed on your feet. Maybe we can catch up over dinner, talk about old times, maybe rekindle—”
“Rekindle what?” a deep, velvet voice interrupted from behind me.
The temperature in the lobby dropped ten degrees. Reed Callaway stepped out of the private corridor, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his custom-tailored charcoal suit, his gaze fixed entirely on Marcus with predatory indifference.
May you like
Marcus swallowed hard, shrinking back slightly under Reed’s imposing height and dangerous aura. “And—and who the hell are you?”
“I’m the man who employs her,” Reed said smoothly, stepping right beside me and letting his hand brush lightly against the small of my back in a gesture of absolute, undeniable possession. “And I’m the man who suggests you turn around, walk out those front doors, and never set foot in this city again—unless you want to find out what happens to men who bother my family.”
