Chapter 2
The sting of the slap hung in the bright, luminous air, a stark contrast to the soft, elegant warmth of the garden. Alden’s head had turned slightly from the force of the blow, a faint reddening mark blooming across his fair, rosy cheek. He did not pull away from the bodyguards who still gripped his upper arms in a vice-like hold. He simply breathed in, his broad shoulders rising beneath his tailored suit, his mind calculating the exact cost of the betrayal unfolding before him.
"Do you feel stronger now, Sloane?" Alden asked quietly, his voice a lethal, measured rumble that completely ignored the laughter of the fifty guests surrounding them.
"I feel like we are finally understanding one another," Sloane replied, keeping her fist tightly wound in the fabric of his necktie. "You are going to smile, you are going to toast to my father, and you are going to sign the port authorities over to my men by midnight. Understood?"
"And if I decline your generous offer?" Alden inquired, his eyes turning to ice.
"Then my guards will break your knees right here on the grass, and I will tell the guests you had a tragic accident," Sloane said, her smile widening.
Before Sloane could issue another threat, movement broke from the periphery of the champagne bar. Callista Wrenley, a twenty-five-year-old housemaid, broke through the perimeter of laughing guests. She was stunningly beautiful, with dark, expressive eyes and neatly pinned hair that framed her delicate face. She wore a traditional black maid dress, a pristine white apron, a white lace maid headband, and sensible flats.
She did not care about the mobsters. She did not care about the guns hidden beneath the dark suits of the men surrounding them. She only saw the red mark on Alden’s face.
Callista rushed forward immediately, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief and horror at the sight of her employer being restrained and assaulted. She stopped right beside Alden, completely ignoring Sloane and the two towering bodyguards.
"Sir..." Callista said softly, her voice trembling with genuine, unfiltered worry.
She reached into her white apron and pulled out a clean, pressed linen napkin. With movements that were incredibly gentle and precise, she reached up toward his face.
"Let me see," Callista whispered, her lips trembling as she lightly touched the napkin to his reddened cheek, her eyes searching his face for any other sign of injury.
Alden’s cold, sharp demeanor faltered for a fraction of a second. He met her concerned, expressive eyes, recognizing the deep, quiet loyalty that radiated from her. In a garden full of vipers, this housemaid was the only person who had stepped forward to check on him.
"I am fine, Callista," Alden said, his voice softening slightly as he looked down at her. "Why did you put yourself in the middle of this?"
May you like
"Because you were hurt," Callista replied simply, keeping the napkin pressed gently against his skin, her fair hands shaking against his jawline.
Sloane’s mocking smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, territorial disgust. "Get your hands off my fiancé, you pathetic little servant. Step away, or I will have them break your arms, too."
