Page 144 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"You're staying in Chicago?"

"I'm not leaving you again."

She nods slowly. "Where will you stay?"

"The Waldorf Astoria."

A small, sad smile crosses her face.

"Where it all began."

"Exactly."

I kiss her then. Soft. Gentle. Trying to pour everything I can't say into the contact. When I pull back, I force myself to step away.

"I'll call youtomorrow."

"Dax—"

"You need space. I get it. But I'm not disappearing." I head for the door, then pause.

"I love you, Scarlett. Whatever you decide, that doesn't change."

Then I leave before I can change my mind and beg her to let me stay.

The Waldorf Astoria lobby is exactly as I remember it. Grand. Elegant. The place where I first saw Scarlett standing in her wedding dress, devastated and alone.

The place where everything started.

I check in and head to my suite. It's not the same one—that feels too pointed—but it's similar. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Expensive furniture. Impersonal luxury. I pour myself a scotch and stand at the window, looking down at the Chicago skyline.

Somewhere out there, Scarlett is in her apartment. Thinking. Deciding. Carrying my child.

And I'm here, waiting. It's torture.

I check my email. Handle a few urgent messages. Make a call to Mark about a deal that's closing next week. But my mind isn't on any of it.

I finish the scotch and pour another. I realize, standing there, looking out at the city, that I simply can't be without her. This isn't about the baby, though that changes everything. This is about her. About the woman who challenged me, who saw through my walls, who made me feel alive in ways I'd forgotten were possible.

I've built an empire. Commanded boardrooms. Negotiated billion-dollar deals. But none of it means anything without her. I set down the glass and pull out my phone.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll make this right.

***

I barely sleep. At seven AM, I'm showered and dressed in one of my best suits. I check my reflection in the mirror, adjusting my tie.

In my jacket pocket is a small velvet box. I bought the ring a month ago. Right after the dinner at Amata. Right after the look in her eyes said more than words. Right after I knew, without question, that she was the one. I've been carrying it ever since, waiting for the right moment. This is it.

The driver takes me to Whitman Communications' Chicago office. It's a mid-rise building in the Loop, nothing compared to Blackwell Media's tower, but professional and polished. I walk through the lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. When the doors open, I step out into a reception area. A young woman at the desk looks up, and her eyes go wide.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Scarlett Bradford."

Recognition flashes across her face. She knows who I am. Everyone in this office probably knows who I am after the scandal.

"Um, let me... I'll see if she's available."