Chapter 1 - The Weight of Escaping
The rain outside the towering mahogany doors drummed like frantic knuckles against glass. Inside the foyer, the air tasted of scorched ego and expensive champagne gone flat. Conan kept his arm locked tight around Elena, feeling every tremor that rippled through her bruised frame. Against her collarbone, two-month-old Leo slept fitfully, his tiny chest hitching with faint whimpers.
Across the checkered marble floor, Victoria Vance still stood in her shimmering gold gown, her painted lips curled back over teeth clenched in absolute rage. The officer standing between them, Officer Miller, adjusted his utility belt, the metal clinking coldly in the high-ceilinged room.
""Officer, this is an utter domestic farce,"" Victoria spat, her voice slicing through the humid tension. She gestured toward Elena with a diamond-encrusted finger. ""She signed an employment agreement and an NDA before setting foot in my estate. You cannot simply walk away with what belongs under this roof.""
""Ma'am, step back,"" Officer Miller warned calmly, holding up a warning palm. ""A report of battery was made from this address. The paramedics are waiting at the bottom of the drive. The young lady and the infant are leaving with Mr. Conan.""
Conan did not look at Victoria. He knew that engaging with the matriarch only gave her venom room to pool. Instead, his dark eyes remained fixed on Elena’s swollen temple. The dark purple contusion was fresh, blooming against the stark porcelain of her skin.
""Can you walk to the car?"" Conan murmured into her hair. His deep voice carried a dangerous, quiet gravity.
Elena swallowed, clutching the infant closer. Her silk gown was smeared with kitchen grime and dish soap, the hem damp and torn. ""My legs are shaking, Conan... but I won't stay another second.""
Conan swept an arm under her shoulders, shielding both mother and child beneath his heavy coat. They moved toward the open doorway, past the terrified, silent gaze of high-society guests lingering near the ballroom archway. Rain whipped across the limestone veranda, cold and unforgiving.
Officer Miller followed them, escorting them down the curved stone stairs to Conan’s vintage black sedan parked beneath the dripping canopy of ancient oaks. Conan opened the back door, securing Elena and the infant inside before turning to face the officer.
""Thank you, Miller,"" Conan said, his jaw rigid. ""I know whose precinct this is. It wasn't easy answering that call.""
""Watch your back, Conan,"" Miller replied, glancing up toward the towering mansion where Victoria watched from an illuminated balcony like a raptor on a perch. ""Her lawyers were already dialing the district attorney before I stepped through the gates.""
Conan climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door against the howling wind. As he shifted into gear and sped past the gilded iron gates, he glanced in the rearview mirror.
Elena was staring down at Leo's soft blanket, her trembling hands unwrapping the edges to check on him. But as her fingers brushed the folds of fabric behind the infant's head, her breath caught in a sharp gasp.
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""Conan..."" she choked out, her voice brittle with dread. ""This isn't Leo's ordinary blanket.""
Conan glanced in the mirror, watching Elena pull a stiff, wax-sealed manila envelope from behind the baby's cushion—an envelope bearing the personal insignia of Victoria’s deceased patriarch.
