로그인No asthma.
The words hung in the hospital room like a verdict.
Sloane felt Declan's eyes find her through the gap in the curtain — dark, sharp, burning with something that was past anger and past cold and into a territory she had no name for.
She was trapped. She knew it. Even if she walked out of this hospital right now, Declan Pierce had the kind of reach that made geography irrelevant. He would find her in an hour. In twenty minutes. Before she made it t
No asthma.The words hung in the hospital room like a verdict.Sloane felt Declan's eyes find her through the gap in the curtain — dark, sharp, burning with something that was past anger and past cold and into a territory she had no name for.She was trapped. She knew it. Even if she walked out of this hospital right now, Declan Pierce had the kind of reach that made geography irrelevant. He would find her in an hour. In twenty minutes. Before she made it to the cab stand outside.Dr. Doyle stepped forward."The symptoms were consistent with asthma," she said carefully, putting herself between Sloane and Declan's gaze. "But the absence of it in the tests doesn't mean what happened wasn't real." She turned to Sloane, her voice softening into something almost gentle. "I need to ask you a few questions."Sloane said nothing."Have you ever experienced this before? Difficulty breathing, chest tightness, triggered by —
"I'm not going.""It's not your choice."Declan was already moving — crossed the room in three strides, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward the door with the calm certainty of a man who had decided and was done discussing."Let go—" Sloane dug in her heels, twisted, pulled. "Nick, stop—"He didn't stop.His grip was iron — not cruel, but absolute — and the more she fought it, the more the bones in her wrist ached beneath the pressure. She stumbled after him through the suite door, into the hallway, toward the elevator, every step a battle she was losing.Dr. Doyle followed three feet behind with the expression of a woman who had witnessed many things she would never repeat.The hospital. Sloane's mind was spinning faster than her feet. He wants an exam. A real one. With results. And results meant doctors. And doctors meant — the scar.Not just
"You think I'd save you?"Declan's voice was cold granite. He looked down at her on the floor — pale, shaking, one hand clutching her chest, the other wrapped around his ankle like she was drowning and he was the only solid thing in the world — and his expression didn't change.Sloane's hand fell away.He's not going to help. The thought was distant, muffled, like everything else. Her lungs weren't working properly. Each inhale arrived half-assembled — enough to keep her conscious, not enough to stop the blackness creeping at the edges.He wants me gone. He's wanted me gone since—The children.The thought cut through everything else like a knife through water.Cole. Cassidy. Jax. Juliet. Ava. Dash.Six faces. Six pairs of dark eyes. Six small bodies waiting for her to come home.She couldn't die on the floor of The Langham Chicago. She couldn't.
"I didn't lie." Sloane's voice shook. She pressed her back against the hotel room door and faced him. "I found out about my mother and your family after I came back to Chicago. I had no idea she'd married into yours. When I realized — that's why I tried to resign. That's why I kept trying to leave."Declan's black eyes were bottomless. Still. Burning."Do you want me to take it off for you?""Listen to me—" She stepped forward. "Claire is not what the gossip says. None of that story is true. She met Richard after — it was all a misunderstanding, it was—"He dropped the cigarette.Ground it out.Stood up.Something in his face had crossed a line she didn't recognize — past cold, past controlled, into something rawer and darker that made the back of her neck prickle."Declan—"She turned for the door.She almost made it.His hand
Sloane yanked her gaze away from Tyler Cross and his dark suit and his insufferable stare and told herself to breathe.She was fine. She was absolutely fine. This was Richard Pierce's birthday party, not a trap. She would smile, drink one glass of champagne, and leave before anything went sideways.She scanned the room again — habit, survival instinct — looking for the one face that could destroy everything.No sign of Declan.He's not coming, Claire had said. He hasn't attended a family event in over a decade.Sloane exhaled.She really needed to stop scaring herself."Elder Sister!"Something small and projectile-shaped hit her side.She looked down.Jamie Cross, resplendent in a tiny suit that made him look like a four-year-old businessman, had attached himself to her waist and was looking up at her with those devastating dark eyes."Jamie." She felt her he
"People who don't know the truth always talk the loudest," Claire said.She was turning a champagne flute in her hands, staring at the boutique window with the look of a woman who had made peace with something ugly a long time ago. "Richard's first wife — she struggled with depression long before I came along. I met him after she was already gone. But grief needs a villain, and I was the easiest target."Sloane said nothing. Let the silence hold."Even without me, there would have been someone else. He was alone. He was—" Claire stopped. Exhaled. "I was just the one who was there." She looked at Sloane. "I'm not asking you to approve of my choices. I just need you to know the truth."The truth. Sloane turned the word over in her mouth like a stone.She'd built her whole life around protecting one. She wasn't sure she had the right to judge anyone else for the ones they'd buried."Try the dress," was all she said.
That hand.Sloane stared at Declan's fingers locked around her wrist and couldn't stop thinking about it — the same hand that had snapped a grown man's wrist like a dry twig thirty seconds ago. Cool skin. Ironclad grip. Not a tremor of hesitation.This man is dangerous."Hello again, Miss Carter."
The second the revolving doors of PIERCE Tower spat her back onto the sidewalk, Sloane tipped her head toward the gray Chicago sky and let out a breath that was one syllable away from a scream.What have I done?She'd just accepted a job — been hand-picked — by the man whose DNA her six children we
It was him.Sloane's brain screamed it. Her body already knew — every nerve ending firing at once, her stomach dropping forty-two floors in a single second.Move. Say something. Do NOT let him see it on your face.She forced her feet across the threshold, chin up, expression smooth, heart detonatin
The city never slept. Neither did its pain.Chicago's skyline bled neon through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ember Lounge, but Sloane Carter wasn't looking at any of it. She was staring at the ring of condensation her glass left on the bar, counting drinks the way other women counted regrets.Se







