Chapter 8 - The Armor of Silk
The master bedroom in the Lake Forest estate was warm, illuminated by the crackle of a stone fireplace.
Sophia sat in a plush armchair, wearing a thick robe, watching Dr. Vance pack her ultrasound kit.
“The baby is resilient, Sophia,” Dr. Vance said with a reassuring smile. “No signs of distress. But your cortisol levels are elevated. You need complete bed rest. No more running around galleries, no more high-stress environments. If you want this pregnancy to go full-term, you must let your husband handle the outside world.”
Sophia nodded quietly. “Thank you, Doctor.”
After Dr. Vance departed under guard escort, the bedroom doors opened.
Dominic entered.
He had showered and changed into fresh clothes, but Sophia could see the exhaustion written into the lines around his eyes. She noticed the slight split across the knuckles of his right hand—a detail he tried to hide by tucking it into his pocket.
She didn't ask. She didn't want to know the specifics of what had transpired in River North.
“Come here,” she said softly, opening her arms.
Dominic crossed the room and sank onto the floor beside her chair, burying his face into her lap. She felt the massive, dangerous man crumble against her thighs, letting out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for days.
Sophia stroked his damp, dark hair, tracing the scar over his eyebrow.
“Is it over?” she whispered.
“Not yet,” Dominic murmured, his voice muffled by the silk of her robe. “Liam is under our control. He gave Cross the bait. Julian believes you are terrified of me, that you want out, and that you are willing to trade Vale Meridian trade secrets for a clean escape to Europe.”
Sophia frowned. “Cross actually believed that?”
“Cross is a narcissist,” Dominic replied, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “He believes every woman is a victim and every man is a tyrant. He cannot comprehend a marriage built on truth.”
“And what happens at the gala tomorrow?”
Dominic reached to the side table and picked up a long velvet box. He laid it across her knees and snapped the brass latch open.
Inside rested a vintage Cartier necklace: a cascade of platinum and emeralds that glowed like green fire in the hearth-light.
“You walk in as my wife,” Dominic said, his voice rising with fierce conviction. “Not as a secret. Not as a victim. You wear these emeralds, Sophia. You wear the ring. You show every predator in this state that you are the mistress of this house.”
Sophia touched the cold stones. She looked at her reflection in the dark windowpanes.
For three years, she had dressed in oversized sweaters, avoided eye contact, and apologized for taking up space in a room. Liam had taught her to be invisible.
Dominic was offering her an empire.
“I’ll do it,” Sophia said, her voice dropping into a register of quiet steel. “On one condition.”
Dominic smiled faintly. “Name it.”
“When Cross falls, you don't execute him in front of me,” she said, placing her palm against her stomach. “I want our baby’s first memory of this world to be peace. Not blood.”
Dominic took her hand, pressing his lips to her palm where her pulse fluttered.
May you like
“Your word is my law, Sophia. Always.”
***