Chapter 2: The 7:43 AM Interrogation

She woke up at exactly 7:43 AM.

Roman knew this because his phone buzzed with a single text from Davis: She’s up.

Roman terminated the multi-million dollar acquisition call he was on mid-sentence. He walked down to the lobby with the terrifying authority of a man who owned the city skyline.

Davis was standing near the stairwell door. Three feet away from him stood the woman.

The baby was still tucked inside the gray cardigan. She had tried to desperately smooth down her tangled hair. She had folded the silver Mylar blanket into a perfectly neat rectangle and held it against her hip.

But it was her chin that stopped Roman in his tracks.

Her chin was tilted up. She had been sleeping on freezing concrete, bleeding and exhausted, yet she stood in his billion-dollar lobby like she was preparing to argue a case before the Supreme Court.

Roman walked slowly toward her.

As he approached, he saw her shoulders pull back. It was a tragic, instinctual flinch. The bracing of a woman who had learned that powerful men walking toward her usually meant something was about to be violently taken away.

Roman stopped exactly six feet away, giving her the psychological safety of distance.

“I’m Roman Callaway,” he said, keeping his voice strictly level. “I own this building.”

Her jaw tightened. She shot a quick, betrayed look at Davis, then locked her eyes back on Roman.

“I know I was trespassing,” she said. Her voice held zero apology. “I’ll leave right now. I just needed a place to—”

“What’s your name?” Roman interrupted softly.

She paused. It was the calculated hesitation of someone who knew that giving out information was a dangerous transaction.

“Isla,” she finally said. “Isla Mercer.”

Inside her cardigan, the baby made a tiny, liquid sound—a newborn surfacing from sleep.

Isla’s entire physical universe reoriented in a millisecond. One hand instantly pressed against the baby’s back. Her eyes darted down, checking his breathing, before snapping back up to Roman.

The fiercely protective sequence took exactly two seconds.

Roman looked at the white plastic bracelet still wrapped around her wrist. “How old is he?”

“Four days,” Isla replied defensively, glancing down at the bracelet as if she had forgotten it was there. “His name is Noah.”

Roman nodded slowly. He took in the dark, bruised circles under her eyes. He noticed her cheap canvas sneakers. It was November in Chicago, and she wasn’t wearing socks.

“There’s an apartment on the ninth floor,” Roman stated. “It’s fully furnished. It’s been sitting empty for six months. It’s yours. For now.”

Isla’s chin stayed up, but a hairline fracture of emotion cracked behind her eyes.

“I’m not a charity case,” she fired back. The words came out too fast. Too practiced.

“I know you aren’t,” Roman replied, keeping his tone entirely stripped of manufactured warmth. “This isn’t charity, Isla. The unit costs me money sitting empty. You’d actually be doing my property manager a favor by keeping the pipes running.”

She stared at him. He let her look.

He could see the rapid, experienced assessment happening in her mind. She was searching for the trap. She had clearly learned the hard way how to spot the difference between a genuine offer and a predator’s bait.

Roman didn’t move. He didn’t offer a fake, comforting smile. He didn’t try to soften the arrangement. He just waited in the cold marble lobby.

Noah whimpered against her chest. Isla’s hand rubbed his tiny back.

“For now,” Isla whispered, her voice finally breaking just a fraction. “That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Roman agreed.

He gestured toward the private elevator. They rode up to the ninth floor in total, assessing silence.

When the doors slid open, Marcus was waiting. The penthouse was immaculate. Heat was blasting. Groceries lined the marble countertops. A basket of newborn diapers and formula sat near the plush sofa.

Isla stepped into the massive living room. She looked at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gray city skyline.

She pressed her free hand flat against her sternum, fighting back a sob. She quickly dropped her hand.

“Thank you,” she said to the empty room.

Roman turned around and walked back to the elevator without saying another word. He had given her a fortress. Now, he needed to find out who she was hiding from.

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