Chapter 8 - The Transition
Three days later, Sloan was officially discharged from Swedish Medical Center.
She stood in the lobby of the hospital wearing a comfortable, high-end navy cashmere sweater and soft trousers that Griffin had ordered directly from Nordstrom for her. Outside the glass doors, three black SUVs were idling, surrounded by Marcus’s discreet security team.
"Mommy, look!" Hazel squeaked, pointing through the glass. "The car has television screens in the seats!"
Griffin stepped up behind Sloan, placing a warm, steady hand on the small of her back. The touch sent a familiar, electric shiver straight up her spine.
"We are going to my penthouse on First Avenue," Griffin said softly, leaning down near her ear. "It has four bedrooms, a private elevator, and a full medical suite where a private nurse can monitor your recovery for the next two weeks."
Sloan turned her head to look at him. "Griffin, we need to go back to the duplex to get our clothes—"
"I had Marcus’s team pack everything from the duplex yesterday," Griffin interrupted smoothly. "Your clothes, the girls' toys, your blueprints, and your father's old drafting table are already set up in the penthouse. I also paid off the remaining ten months of your lease on the Fremont house."
Sloan blinked, overwhelmed by the sheer velocity at which Griffin worked. "You... you paid off my lease?"
"I am systematically removing every source of stress from your life, Sloan," Griffin said, his icy blue eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that left no room for argument. "You spent eight years drowning. My only job now is to keep you floating."
They stepped out into the crisp Seattle afternoon. Griffin personally loaded Hazel and Iris into the plush leather interior of the middle SUV, buckling their seatbelts himself while explaining how the climate control in the backseat worked.
As Sloan sat in the leather seat beside him, watching him interact with the girls—patiently answering Iris’s endless questions about how the car’s engine worked and letting Hazel hold his expensive platinum watch—her heart swelled with a feeling she hadn't allowed herself to experience in a decade.
They arrived at the penthouse twenty minutes later. The private elevator opened directly into a massive, light-filled space with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking Elliott Bay and the snow-capped Olympic Mountains.
Hazel and Iris ran straight to the windows, gasping in awe at the view of the ferries gliding across the sparkling water.
"This is huge!" Iris yelled, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Hazel, look! There's a boat!"
Sloan walked slowly into the grand living room. The interior was decorated in sleek, modern charcoal and white tones, but on the large marble coffee table sat a familiar, wooden framed photograph—a picture of Sloan’s father holding her when she was six years old, brought over from her old dining room.
She turned to look at Griffin, who was standing by the entrance, watching her anxiously.
May you like
"You brought my father's picture," she whispered.
"I brought everything that matters to you," Griffin said quietly, walking over to her. "Including you."
