Chapter 2 - The Whispers of the Past
The sterile corridor of the North Harbor Medical Center felt like a tunnel of ice. Claire Monroe clung to Dr. Hart’s arm, her chest heaving as she tried to process the fragile thread of hope she had just been handed.
"The donor," Claire whispered, her voice trembling. "Who was it? I need to thank them. I need to give them everything I have."
Dr. Hart offered a gentle, tired smile. "Hospital policy protects donor anonymity, Ms. Monroe. But I can tell you this: it was an emergency donor who happened to be in the building. He gave her three units of AB-negative blood. Without him, we would have lost Lily before we even got her onto the bypass machine. He’s a hero."
"AB-negative," Claire repeated, a sudden, cold dread seizing her heart. Her hands grew clammy inside her coat pockets. "Are you... are you sure about the blood type?"
"Absolutely," Dr. Hart replied, looking slightly puzzled by Claire’s sudden rigidity. "AB-negative is the rarest blood type in the world—less than one percent of the population has it. Lily inherited it from her father, since you are O-positive, according to her chart. It's a genetic signature as unique as a fingerprint."
Claire felt the floor beneath her feet tilt.
AB-negative.
Thirteen years ago, when she was twenty years old, she had loved a man who possessed that exact, incredibly rare blood type. A man who had been her whole world before his world—the dark, violent, and unforgiving underworld of Chicago—threatened to swallow her whole.
When Dominic Vale had been shot and nearly killed by a rival faction thirteen years ago, Claire had stood by his hospital bed, terrified. But his father, the ruthless old don who ruled the Vale empire back then, had made it clear: “If you stay with him, girl, you’ll end up in a pine box, and so will any child you bear him. Go. Run, and never look back.”
And then, the doctors had told Dominic that the severe infection following his gunshot wounds had rendered him completely sterile. Claire had found out she was pregnant only a week after she fled the city under an assumed name, changing her identity to protect the tiny life growing inside her. She had let him believe she had moved on, let him believe the lie of his infertility because it was the only way to keep their daughter safe from the crosshairs of his enemies.
For thirteen years, she had lived as a ghost in the suburbs, a quiet nurse raising a beautiful, spirited girl named Lily.
Now, she was back in Chicago, and her daughter was alive because of an AB-negative donor who was present in the emergency room at two in the morning.
"Ms. Monroe? Are you alright?" Dr. Hart asked, steadying her.
"Yes... yes, I’m fine," Claire stammered, her mind racing. "Can I see her? Please, I need to see my daughter."
"She’s being moved to the pediatric ICU. You can see her in a few minutes."
Claire walked down the hallway toward the ICU waiting area, her boots clicking softly against the linoleum. The hospital was quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery.
As she rounded the corner near the surgical wing, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Standing near the double glass doors of the intensive care unit was a man.
He had his back to her, but she would recognize those broad shoulders, that military-straight posture, and the dark, tailored charcoal overcoat anywhere. Standing two steps behind him was Aaron Mercer, his gray hair cropped close, his eyes scanning the corridor with professional vigilance.
Dominic.
Claire’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
He was here. The most feared man in Chicago was standing in the very hospital where her daughter had just been saved.
Suddenly, Aaron Mercer’s eyes swept the hallway. His gaze locked onto Claire. His brow furrowed in immediate recognition, and he tapped Dominic’s shoulder, whispering something into his ear.
Dominic turned around.
May you like
When his dark, piercing eyes met hers, the thirteen years of silence, distance, and buried pain vanished in an instant. Dominic froze. The cut along his jaw, still fresh and angry, seemed to tighten as his lips parted in utter disbelief.
"Claire?" he murmured, his deep baritone voice carrying down the empty corridor, sending a shiver straight down her spine.
