Chapter 8 - The Penthouse Trap
The penthouse suite on the sixty-seventh floor of the Obsidian Tower offered a panoramic view of the storm-lashed Chicago skyline, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension and the smell of expensive French perfume.
Chloe sat tied to a high-backed leather chair, her wrists bound tightly behind her with heavy nylon zip-ties. A dull, persistent cramp radiated from her lower back, and her clothes were still damp from the rain, but her green eyes blazed with fury as she stared at the woman standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Vivien Croft wore a pristine white silk blouse, her blonde hair pinned back into an immaculate chignon, looking as though she had just stepped out of a high-society fashion gala rather than orchestrating a kidnapping.
“You’re making a terrible mistake,” Chloe said, her voice steady despite the pain gripping her body. “Arthur won't let you get away with this. When he finds us—”
Vivien turned slowly, a polite, mocking smile playing across her lips. She walked over, stopping a few feet away, and looked down at Chloe’s swollen stomach with a mixture of clinical curiosity and deep disgust.
“Arthur is currently busy cleaning up my father’s pathetic little mess down at the hospital,” Vivien said lightly, swirling a glass of amber scotch. “By the time he realizes what happened here, my private charter will already be in international airspace over the Atlantic.”
“You tried to poison me at the altar,” Chloe said, her chin lifting defiantly. “And now you’re kidnapping a pregnant woman. You belong in a prison cell, Vivien.”
“Prison?” Vivien let out a soft, musical laugh. “Oh, my dear girl. In my world, prisons are built for people who get caught. And I am not going to get caught, because you are going to write a very simple goodbye letter to Arthur before we leave.”
Vivien pulled a folded sheet of stationery and a gold fountain pen from the glass coffee table, dropping them onto Chloe’s lap.
“What kind of letter?” Chloe asked suspiciously.
“A standard farewell,” Vivien replied smoothly, leaning down so her face was inches from Chloe’s. “You’re going to tell him that you realized you don't belong in his violent, dangerous underworld, that you’re taking the baby and leaving Chicago forever, and that if he ever tries to find you, you’ll ensure he never lays eyes on his child.”
Chloe stared at the paper, then looked up into Vivien’s cold, lifeless eyes. “And if I refuse?”
Vivien’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a flash of malicious cruelty. She reached out, her manicured fingers digging sharply into Chloe’s shoulder, pressing down near the collarbone until Chloe gasped in pain.
“If you refuse,” Vivien whispered, “my men will induce your labor right here on this floor without a doctor, and we’ll see how many hours that little baby survives in a penthouse suite without an incubator.”
A cold wave of dread washed over Chloe. She looked down at her stomach, feeling a faint, desperate kick from within. She had to buy time. She had to keep Vivien talking long enough for Arthur to break through whatever digital walls protected this fortress.
May you like
“You think Arthur will just let me go because of a note?” Chloe challenged, forcing her voice to remain steady. “He knows I love him. He knows I wouldn't leave on my own.”
“He won't have a choice,” Vivien said, turning back toward the window as her phone began to vibrate on the glass table. She glanced at the caller ID, and a triumphant smirk spread across her face. “Speak of the devil.”
