She Was Just a Hotel Maid Paying for Her Brother’s Insulin. By Dawn, Took 3 Bullets For His Son, then Chicago’s Most Feared Man Called Her His Wife. The third bullet did not send Ellie Brooks into darkness.

The flashbulbs were blinding.

As Jack’s black armored SUV pulled up to the red carpet outside the Drake Hotel, a swarm of reporters surged forward, held back only by Jack’s aggressive security detail.

“Just breathe,” Jack murmured, his hand resting warmly on Ellie’s lower back. “Smile. Don’t answer any direct questions. Let me do the talking.”

Ellie wore a stunning, floor-length midnight blue gown that expertly hid the bandages still wrapped tightly around her ribs. Her hair was styled perfectly, the massive diamond heavy on her left hand. She felt like an imposter playing dress-up in a very dangerous game.

They stepped out of the car. The screaming of the press was deafening.

“Mr. Callahan! Is it true she was your maid?”

“Ellie! How does it feel to save the heir to the empire?”

“Jack, when was the secret wedding?”

Jack ignored them all, keeping his arm firmly around Ellie’s waist, guiding her up the steps. His touch was protective, absolute, and entirely terrifying. He didn't just play the part of a devoted husband; he wore it like armor.

Once inside the grand ballroom, the chaos muted into the polite, sophisticated hum of Chicago’s elite.

“You’re doing fine,” Jack whispered, pulling her close as a waiter offered them champagne.

“I feel like everyone is staring at me,” Ellie muttered, accepting a glass but not drinking.

“They are. But they’re looking at the woman who bled for my family. In this room, that makes you royalty.”

Before Ellie could process that, a tall, older man with a silver beard and a tailored gray suit approached them. The temperature around Jack instantly dropped to freezing.

“Jack,” the man smiled, though his eyes were completely dead. “I was surprised to see you tonight. Especially with your... new bride.”