The strike crisis instigated by McGuire was dissolved before dawn.
When William slammed a slip of paper containing the address of a renowned German orthopedic surgeon in front of the hardened Irishman, the rail stoppage that would have cost millions turned into a handshake deal.
That evening, to celebrate the unblocked flow of the Northern Pacific Railway, William took Evelyn to Chicago's most prestigious establishment—the Union League Club.
This was a vanity fair for men, where the air floated with the scent of expensive cigar smoke and the sickly sweet rot of old money.
Evelyn, wearing her dark grey maid's uniform, kept her head down as she followed William. In this sea of tailcoats and silk gowns, she looked like a grey sparrow that had accidentally wandered into a swan lake—completely out of place.
"Ashford, is this your new pet?"
A man with a fleshy face and three gold rings on his fingers blocked their path. He was a local Chicago coal merchant, one of the speculators who had hoped to drive up prices during the strike. Seeing William looking triumphant, his eyes were full of jealousy and spite.
He pointed his cigar contemptuously at Evelyn, the ash nearly falling onto the tip of her nose. "What, is it the fashion now for New York tycoons to bring their bed-warming maids to business discussions? The air here is expensive, Ashford. Don't let the lower class dirty it."
A burst of malicious laughter erupted around them. The well-dressed gentlemen scrutinized Evelyn with eyes that seemed to strip her bare.
Evelyn felt a wave of humiliation. In her past life, this was exactly how she had been treated—as a joke, as air. She instinctively clenched her fists, nails digging into her flesh, ready to apologize humbly and retreat as she always had.
Suddenly, a hand blocked the space in front of her.
It was William's hand.
He swatted away the fat man's pointing cigar with a motion as rough as if he were shooing away a fly.
"Get your filthy hand out of my face, Sterling." William's voice wasn't loud, but the chill radiating from his bones instantly froze the surrounding laughter. "If you dare point that cigar at her again, I'll make you swallow it while it's still burning."
The fat man's face turned the color of raw liver. "William! For a maid, you would actually—"
"A maid?"
William let out a cold sneer. Instead of hiding Evelyn behind him, he reached out and grasped her shoulder, pushing her to the forefront with a gesture of possessive dominance.
"In this entire room, she is the only one who saw through that union leader's true weakness. This morning, it was this 'maid' who saved me thirty million dollars. And you?"
William's grey-green eyes swept the room like a wolf, his gaze contemptuous as a knife:
"You just sit here staring at the ticker tape like a swarm of blind flies. She can see through people at a glance, while you don't even know what your opponents want."
"I don't consider her just a maid." William looked down at the slightly stunned Evelyn, his voice laden with double meaning. "In this rapidly changing era, who can say where the servant of today will stand tomorrow? Perhaps one day, you will all be begging her for favors."
With that, ignoring the dumbfounded crowd, he steered Evelyn firmly out of the club.
...
The Chicago night wind was bone-chilling, but Evelyn's shoulder burned hot.
The heat from William's palm, resting on her shoulder just moments ago, seemed to have seared through the rough fabric and branded her very bones.
They walked back along Michigan Avenue. William didn't take a carriage; he seemed to enjoy the night air after tearing his enemies apart.
As they passed Marshall Field's, the massive display windows were ablaze with gaslight, flowing with color.
Evelyn's steps involuntarily slowed by half a beat.
In the center of the window stood an emerald green velvet gown. It was a deep, noble green, exactly the color of her eyes. The hem was embroidered with gold thread, and the neckline was dotted with tiny pearls—neither gaudy nor vulgar, but possessing a breathtaking beauty.
She looked only once.
It was an object belonging to another world. The number on the price tag was ten years of her salary; it was a plume that only someone like Aurora deserved to wear.
She quickly withdrew her gaze, lowered her head, and continued walking.
"Wait."
William stopped.
Evelyn looked back in confusion. "Sir?"
William wasn't looking at her; he was staring at the window. Hands in his trench coat pockets, chin slightly raised, he signaled to the shop assistant who was preparing to close up.
"That one." He pointed at the emerald dress, his tone as casual as if he were buying a newspaper. "Take it down. Wrap it up."
The clerk froze for a moment, but seeing the expensive handmade coat William wore, he immediately put on a fawning smile. "Sir has excellent taste! This is a new arrival from Paris... Is it for this..."
The clerk glanced at Evelyn in her maid's uniform and stalled.
"It's for her," William said indifferently.
Evelyn's head snapped up, her emerald eyes filled with shock and disbelief. "Sir? That... that is too expensive, I cannot..."
"Shut up."
William turned around, and there, on the bustling Chicago street, he looked at her seriously for the first time.
"This is payment," he said, his voice slightly raspy in the night wind. "For the McGuire intelligence, and for not embarrassing me at the club."
He took a step closer, looking down at her. His eyes held a look of haughty charity, yet mixed with a strange warmth.
"It is a pity to keep a sharp dagger wrapped in old rags. This dress matches your eyes, Kyle."
He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair blown by the wind behind her ear. The movement was so natural, as if they were not master and servant, but true lovers.
"Take it. The next time you stand beside me, I want fools like Aurora to know that my 'weapon' is more expensive than they are."
When Evelyn took the exquisite box, her hands were trembling slightly.
It was heavy.
Not just the weight of the dress.
Two lifetimes.
In her past life, the only "gifts" she had ever received were a piece of moldy bread her father brought back on a snowy night, and the few pennies arrogant gentlemen threw at her like they were feeding a dog when she begged on the street. Never had anyone, anyone, given her something so beautiful simply because she did well, simply because they thought it "matched" her.
This wasn't just a dress. It was an illusion of being seen, recognized, and respected.
Even if she knew that in William's eyes, this might just be a new collar for his pet.
But on that cold Chicago winter night, holding the box that still carried his body warmth, Evelyn looked at William's tall back and felt, for the first time, a crack form in the heart she had frozen for revenge.
A current of warmth seeped in.
Faint, but fatal.
She quickened her pace to catch up, whispering, "Thank you, Mr. William."
William didn't look back, only waved his hand in the wind.
"Keep up. Don't get lost."
Evelyn watched him, her gaze complex.