Chapter 3 - The Safehouse in BrooklineNaomi didn’t meet him at his penthouse. She sent an address in a quiet, unassuming neighborhood in Brookline—a modest, red-brick duplex with flower boxes fading in the autumn chill.
When Elliot stepped out of the cab, the front door opened before he could raise his hand to knock. Naomi stood in the doorway wearing an oversized flannel shirt, her auburn hair pulled back into a loose clip. She looked tired, the shadows under her eyes telling a story of sleepless nights and heavy burdens.
"Is she sleeping?" Elliot asked, stepping inside and shutting the door against the cold.
"Yes. Bella finally went down an hour ago," Naomi said, walking into the small, warm kitchen. She motioned for him to sit at a round wooden table. There was no coffee brewing, no anger in her posture—just a profound, heavy sorrow.
Elliot sat down, his hands trembling slightly as he rested them on the grain. "Why didn't you tell me, Naomi? Three years. You walked out, and you never said a word. You let me live my life, marry someone else, while I had a daughter?"
Naomi sat opposite him, folding her hands tightly in her lap. She looked up, her bright, clear eyes fixing on his. "Because the night I found out I was pregnant, your father’s head of security paid me a visit."
The kitchen seemed to tilt. "My father?"
"Richard Rhodes—or rather, your own family's inner circle," Naomi corrected softly, though the sting remained. "They made it very clear what would happen to me, to my family, and to any child I brought into the world if I tied myself to an heir whose marriage was already mapped out on a boardroom spreadsheet. They told me you were weak, Elliot. They told me you would fold the moment your inheritance was threatened."
Elliot felt the blood drain from his face. "That's a lie. I would have—"
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"You would have tried," Naomi interrupted, her voice steady and heartbreakingly calm. "And you would have failed. You let me walk out three years ago without a fight because your mother’s tears and your grandfather’s trust fund mattered more to you than my hand in yours. Do you remember?"
The words struck him like a physical blow. They were the exact echo of what she had said the day she left his Boston penthouse.
