Ella’s Point of View
My heart was still heavy as the SUV pulled back into Shawn Hayes’s North Shore estate, the morning’s visit to Rosehill Cemetery lingering like a quiet ache. Kneeling at my mother’s grave—Miranda Harper’s name etched in cold marble, the star pendant I’d left as a gift to her—had stirred a grief I’d buried for years, but Shawn’s presence, his gentle touch on my shoulder, had been a light in that darkness. I glanced at him beside me, his profile softened by the car’s dim interior, his blue eyes catching mine with a warmth that made my pulse skip. Chicago’s shadows, Marcus’s looming threat, felt distant for a moment, but the clock was ticking—Shawn’s surgery was hours away, and my role as his surgeon demanded focus, not feelings.
We stepped out into the mansion’s marble foyer, the air cool and hushed, the weight of the day settling between us. Shawn paused, turning to me, his smile soft but tinged with something deeper, a quiet intensity. “Ella, you okay after the cem
