Chapter 3 - A Safe Haven
The journey from Lincoln Park to my estate on the outskirts of Chicago was conducted in total, tense silence. Victor drove the reinforced SUV while two armored chase cars flanked us. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken grief and rising wrath.
Emma sat wedged between Lily and me. She refused to let go of her plush rabbit, but she had allowed Lily to hold her left hand. The contrast was heartbreaking: Lily, dressed in a custom cashmere coat with rosy cheeks and healthy vitality; Emma, wrapped in my oversized wool trench coat, looking like a breeze could blow her away.
"Victor," I commanded softly, staring straight ahead.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Find Karen Vance. I want every safehouse, every bank account, every contact she has ever touched flagged within the hour. Bring her to me alive, but do not let her step foot near my children."
"Understood, Mr. Blackwell. The boys are already sweeping the city."
When we arrived at the gates of the Blackwell Manor, the iron doors swung open smoothly. The grand stone house, surrounded by high security walls and pristine gardens, had felt like a luxurious mausoleum since Grace died. Today, however, it felt different. It felt like a fortress meant to protect something priceless.
I carried Emma inside myself. She weighed almost nothing—far too light for a seven-year-old child. As we walked through the grand foyer, she looked up at the crystal chandeliers and sweeping marble staircases with wide, bewildered eyes.
"Is this a castle?" she murmured softly.
"It's your home, Emma," I said, lowering her gently onto a soft velvet sofa in the private family parlor.
Our house physician, Dr. Evans, was already waiting. He spent the next hour examining her while Lily sat on the floor nearby, coloring in a sketchbook to keep Emma calm. I stood by the window, watching every breath Emma took.
"She is severely malnourished, Marcus," Dr. Evans reported quietly once he finished, stepping into my adjacent study. "She has mild anemia, Vitamin D deficiency, and clear signs of prolonged neglect. But physically, there are no permanent injuries. With proper nutrition, rest, and a lot of care, she will recover fully."
"And mentally?" I asked, my hands clenching into fists inside my pockets.
"She’s traumatized," Evans admitted honestly. "She’s been told her whole life to stay hidden, to be quiet, to be ashamed. She expects punishment for asking for basic things like food or water. It will take time for her to realize she is safe."
"She is safe," I growled softly. "I will burn down anyone who tries to make her feel unsafe again."
I walked back into the parlor. A maid had brought a tray of warm chicken soup, fresh bread, and soft fruits. Emma was staring at the bowl as if it were a trick, her hands tucked neatly under her thighs.
"Go ahead, Emma," I said, sitting on the low table in front of her. "It’s all for you. Eat as much as you want."
She glanced at Lily, who gave her an encouraging nod. "It’s really good, Emma! Mrs. Gable makes the best soup!"
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Emma picked up the spoon with a trembling hand. The moment the first sip reached her lips, tears overflowed from her green eyes and tracked down her dirty cheeks. She ate hungrily, silently, trying so hard not to make a sound even while crying.
I reached out, taking her tiny, cold hand in mine. "You never have to be hungry again, Emma. I swear it to you."
