Chapter 99 Lines of Defense
The city lights were a frantic blur against the windows of the SUV as I sped toward my penthouse. Mila was a dead weight in my arms, her breathing shallow and ragged, her skin unnaturally clammy against the heat of my palms. Every time she moaned in her sleep—a soft, broken sound of confusion—it felt like a hot iron pressing against my ribs.
I couldn't take her back to Brooklyn. Not like this. I couldn't let Grace and Zoe see their sister—their pillar of strength—as a shell of herself, covered in the grime of a storage room floor. And I couldn't take her to a public hospital. The moment the name Mila Stone appeared on an intake form next to Nathaniel Salvatore, the vultures from the press would be circling the ER before the first IV was even hung. Scarlett had counted on that. She had counted on the scandal being public and irreversible.
"Stay with me, Mila," I whispered, pulling her closer as the elevator ascended to the penthouse. "Almost there."
The doors slid open to the silent, sterile luxury of my home. I carried her straight to the master bedroom, laying her gently on the silk sheets. The contrast was sickening—her bruised, pale form against the perfection of my world. My hands were shaking as I dialed Dr. Aris, the Salvatore family’s private physician. He was paid a fortune for his discretion, and more importantly, for his speed.
"I have an emergency," I said the second he picked up. "Toxin exposure. Likely a heavy sedative or a date-rape analogue. Get to the penthouse. Now."
Once the doctor was en route, I paced the length of the living room, my phone heavy in my hand. I had to call Eliza. I dreaded it. Explaining this to her felt like admitting I had failed in the one task that mattered: keeping Mila safe. I had promised to protect her, yet I had let her walk right into a den of vipers while I sat at a dinner table discussing profit margins.
She answered on the first ring. "Nate? Is she with you? Please tell me she’s okay."
"She’s with me, Eliza. I have her at my place." I took a jagged breath, leaning my forehead against the cold floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city. "She’s... she’s not herself. Scarlett drugged her. She set up a scene to destroy her reputation, Eliza. I got there in time, but Mila is heavily sedated."
There was a sharp, audible gasp on the other end, followed by a silence so heavy it felt like it was vibrating. Then, Eliza’s voice came back, no longer the witty, sharp-tongued friend, but something fierce and protective.
"Is she safe? Physically, Nate—is she safe?"
"Yes. I have a private doctor coming. I couldn't bring her home. I didn't want the girls to see her like this. They don't need that trauma."
"You did the right thing," Eliza said, her voice trembling but steadying with every word. "Nate, listen to me. Don't worry about Brooklyn. I’ve already told Grace and Zoe that Mila is staying at the library late for a project and that she’s going to crash at your place so she doesn't have to commute back in the dark. I’ve got them fed, I’ve got them in bed, and I’m staying here. I’m not leaving this apartment until Mila walks back through this door."
I closed my eyes, a lump forming in my throat that had nothing to do with the fight. "Eliza... thank you. I didn't even think to ask—"
"You don't have to ask, you idiot," she snapped, though there was no heat in it. "We’re family. Just take care of her. If she wakes up and she’s scared, you tell her I’m here. You tell her the girls are safe."
As I hung up, I looked out at the sprawling, glittering expanse of New York. I realized then how lucky Mila was—and how lucky I was—to have Eliza. Without a single prompt, she had dismantled the potential panic in Brooklyn, weaving a lie so seamless it protected the girls' innocence while she stood guard over Mila’s life. She was the anchor Mila had built for herself in the real world, miles away from the poisonous "sisterhood" Scarlett Tate preached. Eliza didn't need a golden invitation or a secret society to show her loyalty; she simply lived it. It was a humbling realization that while I could provide the security and the doctors, Eliza provided the peace of mind that Mila would need to truly recover.
The doorbell rang—Dr. Aris.
For the next two hours, the penthouse was a blur of medical equipment and hushed tones. Aris confirmed it was a high-dose benzodiazepine mixed with a concentrated sedative. "She’ll be out for several more hours," he said, adjusting the IV drip he’d started. "The hydration will flush it out, but she’ll be disoriented and likely nauseous when she wakes. She needs quiet, Nathaniel. And she needs to feel safe."
After the doctor left, I pulled a chair to the side of the bed. I didn't turn on the lights. I sat in the shadows, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, my hand resting just inches from hers. The silence of the apartment felt heavy, charged with the lingering electricity of the night’s violence. I kept replaying the moment I found her, the sight of the camera and those men searing itself into my brain.
The realization settled over me like a shroud. I had encouraged her to find her own path at Alverstone. I had wanted her to feel empowered. But tonight proved that the world I lived in wasn't a place where merit was enough. It was a battlefield. Scarlett hadn't seen a scholar; she’d seen a target. She had seen someone who didn't fit the mold and decided to break the person instead of the mold.
I reached out and finally took Mila's hand, her fingers small and cool in mine. I would never let her walk those halls alone again. If she wanted to conquer Alverstone, fine—but I would be the shadow at her back, and I would make sure that anyone who even thought about crossing her again understood exactly what kind of monster a Salvatore could be. I would build a wall around her so high that not even the Tates could see over it.
I watched her sleep, the fury in my gut hardening into a cold, permanent resolve. Scarlett Tate thought she had won. She had no idea that she had just signed the death warrant for her own social standing. By morning, the hunt would truly begin.