Chapter 3 - The Price of a Secret
The air in the hospital room grew instantly heavy. Sutton straightened his coat, pasting a greasy, deferential smile across his face as he recognized the man who had just walked in.
"Mr. Sterling! I didn't realize you’d be making a hospital rounds," Sutton said, extending a hand that Dante completely ignored. "Just discussing business matters with one of our staff members. A personal loan arrangement."
Dante didn't look at Sutton. His dark eyes remained fixed on Marin, taking in the defensive posture she maintained in front of her sleeping sister, the trembling of her hands, and the unmistakable look of dread in her eyes.
"She’s on the clock at a private club," Dante said slowly, his tone dangerously calm. "And you’re harassing her in a children's ward at two in the morning. That’s an unusual business model, Mr. Vane."
Sutton’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered. "Just looking out for the girl. She tends to bite off more than she can chew."
"Leave," Dante said. It wasn't a suggestion.
Sutton swallowed hard, casting a warning glare at Marin before shuffling past the bodyguards and out into the hallway.
The door clicked shut, leaving the three of them in a suffocating silence. Nell stirred slightly in her sleep, letting out a soft sigh, but did not wake up.
Marin kept her back to her sister’s bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had expected Dante to leave with Sutton, or to look at her with the same cold indifference he had shown at the club. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his gaze piercing.
"You seem to attract a lot of complicated men, Ms. Delaney," Dante said, his voice dropping lower. "First an aggressive bar manager. Then a frantic run-in at a luxury club. And now, I find you cornered in a hospital that happens to be funded by one of my primary philanthropic shells."
Marin’s breath caught. "I didn't ask you to follow me here."
"I didn't follow you. I came to check on the hospital’s security logs after your friend Delia made a rather... interesting scene tonight." Dante crossed his arms, the tattoos on his forearms disappearing beneath his cuffs. "Delia claims she’s carrying my child. But when I asked her about certain details of my life—things only someone who spent a specific night with me would know—she hesitated."
Marin’s stomach plummeted. She forced herself to look him in the eye, keeping her expression as neutral as stone. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Everything," Dante said, taking another step closer. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face with a gentleness that completely contradicted the dangerous tension in his frame. "Because when I look at you, I don't see a cleaning woman. I see the woman who sat across from me in a penthouse four months ago during a thunderstorm. The woman who told me she liked old movies and hated coffee without milk."
Marin felt the world tilt off its axis. He remembered. Every detail, every word, had stayed with him.
"You’re mistaken," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Am I?" Dante leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "Delia doesn't even drink coffee, Marin. And she has no idea why I have a scar on my left shoulder. But you do."
He pulled back, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that terrified her.
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"Now," Dante murmured, "tell me why my fiancé is parading around pretending to be pregnant with my baby, while the real mother is scrubbing floors in my hotel and hiding from my enemies."
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