Chapter 3 - Ghosts of the Past
The gallery was a museum of wealth and melancholy. Rows of priceless oil paintings hung beneath soft track lighting, illuminating landscapes of stormy seas and lonely European alleyways. Madison walked slowly past a massive Renaissance-style portrait, her footsteps echoing softly against the parquet flooring.
Marcus materialized beside her like a silent shadow.
“You surprised him,” Marcus said quietly, his hands folded neatly behind his back.
Madison didn't look at him. “Most men are surprised when a woman doesn't immediately burst into tears.”
“It’s not just about tears, Miss Parker,” Marcus said, his tone softening just a fraction. “You don't understand what this house is. Years ago, before you ever set foot in Chicago, David wasn't like this. He trusted once. Completely.”
Madison stopped walking, turning her head to look at Marcus. “What happened?”
“Her name was Victoria,” Marcus said, his gaze drifting toward a distant doorway. “She was a glamorous marketing executive in the Loop. David gave her everything—trips to Monaco, custom jewelry, access to his private accounts, and something far more dangerous for a man in his position: his complete, unfiltered faith. He was ready to walk away from everything just to build a quiet life with her.”
“And she betrayed him,” Madison guessed, the pieces falling into place with grim inevitability.
“She leaked his proprietary logistics network to a rival syndicate, cleaned out three corporate accounts, and fled to Zurich with a senior federal prosecutor,” Marcus stated flatly. “When David found out, it didn't just break his heart; it shattered his capacity for human trust. Since that night, he swore he would never let anyone close enough to hurt him again. Real intimacy became a liability. Strangers became safer than love.”
Madison stared at Marcus, a sudden wave of sharp, unfiltered irritation washing over her exhaustion. “So he brings random strangers here? Every single night? What happens to them by morning?”
“They are paid generously, sworn to absolute secrecy, and driven away before dawn,” Marcus explained without emotion. “They are temporary distractions. Safe, emotionless blanks where he can pretend for a few hours that the world is simple.”
Before Madison could process the sheer, staggering loneliness of that routine, heavy footsteps approached from behind them.
David stood at the end of the gallery, his jacket removed, his white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar. He dismissed Marcus with a flick of his wrist, and the older man slipped away into the shadows without a sound.
David walked toward Madison, stopping under the amber glow of a wall sconce.
“Marcus has been talking to you,” David stated, not a question.
“He explained your little routine,” Madison said, crossing her arms. “Bringing strangers into your home because you’re too terrified of getting hurt again.”
David’s jaw clenched so hard muscles feathered visibly along his cheek. “Be careful, Miss Parker. You are treading on ground that no one else dares to walk on.”
“Because everyone around you is terrified of your temper,” Madison fired back, stepping directly into his space. “They whisper behind your back, they pander to your ego, and they walk on eggshells to avoid setting you off. But you want to know the truth, Mr. Prescott?”
David didn't move an inch, his dark eyes locked onto hers. “Enlighten me.”
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“You’re a coward,” she said, her voice ringing clear and sharp through the empty gallery.
David’s breath hitched. For a terrifying, breathless second, the air pressure in the room plummeted. The most feared man in Chicago looked like he was about to strike—or worse.
