Chapter 208
[ 531 words ]
Chapter 208:
Julian sighed heavily, glancing at the code on the screen. “I’m sorry, I have a massive trauma consult coming into bay four. I have to go.” He gave Caroline a quick wave. “Eat it all. I’ll check on you later.” He turned and jogged toward the elevators.
Caroline took a bite of the pastry. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out. It was a text from Brenna.
Went to admin to drop off labs. Saw Finchley through his window. He was shredding documents with the Romero Foundation logo on them. Looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Something is very wrong.
Caroline stared at the text, her jaw locking.
The confirmation sent a surge of pure, cold adrenaline through her exhausted veins. Harper Romero was trying to break her.
Caroline crushed the empty paper cup in her hand and threw it in the trash. She was going to survive this shift, and then she was going to walk into that estate and make them regret ever testing her.
𝗗𝘪ѕ𝗰ov𝘦r nе𝘸 ѕ𝘵𝗼𝘳іe𝗌 on 𝘨𝘢𝗹ոo𝘷𝖾𝗅ѕ.𝗰о𝗆
The bitter, biting wind of the late autumn night whipped off the Potomac River. It tore across the sprawling lawns of the Romero estate, grabbing the hem of Caroline’s cheap black turtleneck sweater.
She stood at the base of the massive stone steps, her spine locked perfectly straight, her gray eyes completely devoid of warmth, staring up at the towering, fortress-like facade of the main house.
Sixteen hours of relentless, orchestrated physical torture in the emergency room had drained the glycogen from her muscles. Her lower back throbbed with a dull, sickening ache. But her mind was razor-sharp. The operative inside her was fully awake, running threat assessments on the security cameras mounted under the stone eaves.
Carson Finch, the estate’s head butler, stood at the top of the steps. He wore an immaculate three-piece suit that seemed entirely immune to the freezing wind.
Finch turned his body slightly and extended a white-gloved hand toward the massive, wrought-iron double doors. It was a flawless, mechanical gesture, inviting her to cross the threshold into the absolute epicenter of Washington power.
Caroline walked up the steps without hesitation.
She stepped past Finch and entered the grand foyer.
The heavy oak doors swung shut behind her. The sound was a deep, resonant boom that vibrated through the soles of her boots. The heavy wood instantly severed the noise of the distant highway. The silence inside the mansion was absolute, heavy, and physically suffocating.
The foyer was massive and dimly lit. The air smelled of lemon polish, old paper, and the faint, metallic tang of cold wealth.
Massive oil paintings of Romero ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to track her movements, radiating a collective, judging hostility toward the intruder in the cheap sweater.
Caroline began to walk. She wore thick-soled black sneakers, and her rubber soles hit the polished marble floor without making a single sound. She moved with the silent, balanced glide of a predator.
Finch walked two paces ahead of her. He glanced over his shoulder, and a micro-expression of genuine surprise flickered across his stoic face. He was used to the sharp, echoing clatter of designer stilettos on this marble. The absolute silence of Caroline’s footsteps unnerved him.
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