His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 487

A year and a half later, Chicago. Winter.

The freezing sea breeze whipped across the Chicago Waterfront, making the water shimmer under the night sky.

On the top floor of the Peninsula Hotel, the grand ballroom hosting an elite charity gala was filled with clinking glasses. The elegant sound of a cello echoed beneath the opulent crystal chandeliers.

At the edge of the second-floor balcony, Archer Vanderbilt leaned heavily against the carved stone railing with one hand.

He wore a long, dark gray cashmere overcoat over a custom black peak-lapel suit. His crisp white shirt was buttoned to the collar, and his tie was flawless.

For a year and a half, he hadn't slept through a single night. He had lost significant weight, and the angles of his face had grown sharper and colder. The aloof demeanor he once possessed had morphed into an aura of pure ruthlessness and obsession. He radiated a dangerous, unapproachable energy.

The Sandalwood Prayer Beads hidden beneath his cuff were polished smooth from constant handling, but they did nothing to suppress the chilling aura he projected.

Over the past eighteen months, he had practically turned the Caribbean upside down, yet there hadn't been a single trace of Virginia.

Whenever he closed his eyes, Kian Shaw's words echoed in his mind: *"Irreversible cognitive damage."*

Just then, Zachary Cole approached with a file, lowering his voice to report on the progress of an acquisition in Chicago.

Archer idly swirled the champagne in his glass, his gaze sweeping lazily over the grand ballroom below.

Suddenly, he froze.

The champagne splashed dangerously close to the rim of the glass.

In the center of the ballroom downstairs, a flash of brilliant red had caught his eye without warning.

It was a face etched into his very bones.

But the styling was completely different.

The woman was dressed in a vintage red velvet haute couture backless gown, its tailored waist highlighting her stunning curves.

Following his gaze, Zachary gasped, his voice trembling. "Mr. Vanderbilt, is that... Mrs. Vanderbilt?!"

"Look into her," Archer commanded, his voice painfully hoarse as his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.

"Is Mr. Vanderbilt also interested in Mrs. Harrington?" a Chicago real estate mogul standing nearby noted his gaze and chuckled.

Archer froze in his tracks. "Mrs... Harrington?"

"Yes, the wife of Dominic Harrington, the man who practically runs Chicago," the mogul explained, eyeing the striking figure in red with a hint of gossip in his tone.

"Word is Mr. Harrington treasures her completely. She's extremely private and rarely makes public appearances. It's quite a surprise to see her tonight..."

Dominic Harrington.

One of Chicago's most powerful elites, known for his ruthless methods and low profile.