The air at Chicago Union Station was thick with a pungent, suffocating, yet strangely exhilarating scent. It was a mixture of coal smoke, scorched steel, and the metallic tang of blood from millions of livestock waiting for the slaughter.
With a deafening, long whistle, the massive steam train slowly ground to a halt at the platform.
Evelyn, carrying William's briefcase, followed him off the carriage. The moment her feet touched the ground of Chicago, she felt a tremor entirely different from New York.
If New York was an indifferent aristocrat wearing white gloves, then Chicago was a bare-chested steel beast, sweating profusely beside a blast furnace.
"Struck dumb?"
William's voice sounded from ahead. He wore a dark grey trench coat and a black bowler hat. In this city filled with smoke and dust, he seemed even more at ease than in New York, as if he had returned to his natural hunting ground.
Evelyn withdrew her gaze from the distant skyscrapers and lowered her head. "Here... it feels very alive, Sir."
"Alive?" William stopped and looked back at her, a sardonic curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. "There is only desire here. Desire for money, desire for flesh, desire for power. Welcome to the boiler room of hell."
Evelyn watched his straight, imposing back and subconsciously touched her left wrist. There was a ring of purple bruising there, hidden strictly beneath her starched cuff.
It was a souvenir Aurora had left her yesterday before their departure.
...
[The Eve of Departure]
The atmosphere in the dressing room of Ashford Manor was taut as a bowstring.
"You cannot take her!" Aurora screamed, her fingernails digging ruthlessly into Evelyn's wrist, as if trying to gouge out a piece of flesh. "She is a thief! I just saw her touching your cufflinks!"
It was a clumsy frame-up. A sapphire cufflink was currently lying in Aurora's other hand; she hadn't even had time to slip it into Evelyn's pocket.
"Let go."
William stood at the door, holding his pocket watch, not even sparing a glance at the cufflink.
"William! I'm doing this for your own good!" Aurora didn't let go; instead, she increased the pressure. Evelyn's face went pale with pain, but she didn't utter a sound. She simply looked at William with those emerald eyes, quietly waiting for judgment.
"I said, let go."
William's voice dropped to freezing point. He walked over, not to pry Aurora's fingers apart, but to directly squeeze the joint of her wrist.
"Ow!" Aurora cried out in surprise and released her grip.
"Listen, Aurora." William took the cufflink and tossed it casually onto the table, where it landed with a crisp clatter. "I am going to Chicago to fight a war, not to have a picnic. I need a useful knife, not a screaming doll. If you dare touch my 'luggage' again, I will kick all your father's shares in the Northern Pacific Railway out of the company."
"Luggage?" Aurora froze, and then a twisted look of satisfaction floated onto her face. "So, she is just luggage."
"What else?" William swept a cold glance over Evelyn. "Wait for me in the car. Don't embarrass me here."
Evelyn curtsied and turned to leave. In the moment she turned, she rubbed her bruised wrist, the corner of her mouth twitching upward imperceptibly.
Did he do it to protect her? No.
He just hated people touching his things. Even if it was a dog, as long as it bore the name "Ashford," only he was allowed to kick it.
But that was enough. It was exactly the shield she needed.
...
[The Palmer House Hotel, Chicago]
The memory faded.
They took a carriage down the bustling Michigan Avenue and finally stopped in front of a building so luxurious it was jaw-dropping—The Palmer House.
It was the first hotel in the world to install electric lights and telephones in every room, hailed as "The World's Greatest Hotel."
The lobby was paved with peacock-patterned marble, the dome painted with frescoes of Greek mythology, and the waiters weaving through the crowd wore tailcoats. Evelyn carried the luggage, trying to keep her expression worldly, but the shock in her eyes was impossible to hide.
In her past life, the best place she had ever lived was a drafty attic. Now, she was standing in the center of the Gilded Age.
"Mr. Ashford, your Presidential Suite is ready," the hotel manager greeted him like a king. "As for this... maid..."
By convention, traveling servants stayed in the communal bunks downstairs or in cramped attic servant quarters.
"She stays next door." William threw his gloves to the bellboy, interrupting the manager indifferently.
"Next... next door?" The manager paused. "You mean the adjoining junior suite? But that is usually for secretaries or bodyguards..."
"Do you not understand English?" William's grey-green eyes swept over him.
"I do! Of course I do!"
...
When Evelyn pushed open the door marked "Adjoining Room," she held her breath.
Although not as grand as William's master suite, this room was still more luxurious than anywhere she had lived in her past or present life. Soft Persian rugs, a mahogany vanity, and a four-poster bed covered in a goose-down duvet. What shocked her most was that the room had a private bathroom. The taps on the bathtub were gold-plated, and there were even knobs—running hot water.
"I'm not in the habit of ringing the bell and waiting forever."
The sound of a lock turning came from behind her.
Evelyn whipped around.
Between this room and William's master suite was a two-way connecting door. At this moment, William was standing by that door, holding a freshly poured glass of whiskey. He had taken off his coat and loosened his tie; his shirt collar was open, revealing a patch of cold, pale chest.
He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes amused as he watched Evelyn staring at the bathtub like a child who had never seen the world.
"This door, I won't lock." William swirled his glass, the ice clinking crisply against the crystal. "This means you can come over to serve at any time. It also means..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He simply looked her up and down with those aggressive eyes, the suggestion in his gaze so thick it wouldn't dissolve.
"I understand, Sir." Evelyn lowered her head to hide the acceleration of her heartbeat—not from shyness, but from the thrill of walking on the edge of a cliff. "I will be at your disposal."
"Good."
William took a sip of his drink and turned back into his room. "In half an hour, I want a bath. Water temperature at 40 degrees. Don't make me wait."
The connecting door was not fully closed; it was left with an ambiguous crack.
Evelyn stood in the center of the luxurious room, listening to the footsteps from next door, and took a deep breath of the air scented with expensive aromatherapy.