Chapter 6 - The Quiet Leak
The morning sun cut through the tall arched windows of the grand foyer, casting long, pale shards of light across the polished marble floor. I stood by the antique sideboard, pouring black coffee into a heavy porcelain mug for Nicholas while the steady hum of his voice drifted from the study down the hall. He was on the phone with the estate's public relations director, his tone clipped, dangerous, and entirely devoid of the warmth he reserved for his mother or the guarded curiosity he sometimes showed me.
Footsteps echoed sharply against the stone. Nicholas appeared in the doorway, his black suit jacket discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms to reveal the clean, white strip of medical tape I had applied the night before. His dark hair was slightly tousled, falling across his forehead in a way that erased the polished corporate armor he usually wore like a second skin.
"They leaked it," Nicholas said without preamble, stopping a few feet from me. He reached out and took the coffee mug from my hands, his fingers brushing mine with a brief, electric warmth that made my breath catch. "Julian and his associates. They’ve gone to the tabloids with a fabricated story claiming my mother is mentally incompetent and that I’m mismanaging the estate funds for personal gain."
I set the remaining pot down on the silver tray, my hands steady despite the cold knot tightening in my stomach. "The press will be outside the gates by noon, won't they?"
"They're already at the perimeter," Nicholas replied, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the front drive. Outside, a distant cluster of camera lenses glinted in the morning light beyond the wrought-iron gates. "Which means we need to move her. I won't have reporters shoving microphones in her face while her hands still shake from the arthritis."
"Where can we take her?" I asked, stepping closer to his side, letting my shoulder brush his shirtsleeve. "Every urban property you own is staked out by now."
"I have a place," Nicholas said, turning his head to look down at me, his dark eyes searching my face with intense focus. "A secluded stone cottage fifty miles north, near the county line. It’s quiet. No cameras, no corporate boardrooms, and no prying relatives."
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"And your work?" I asked, my voice dropping to a softer register.
"My work can wait," he said flatly. "My family cannot."
