Chapter 9
Sloane sat frozen on the grass, the sheer magnitude of Alden’s phone call breaking the last remnants of her arrogance. Her father had not threatened a war; he had listened to the accusation and remained silent, calculating the cost of defending a daughter who had recklessly murdered a rival boss's wife. She was utterly alone, stripped of her syndicate's protection.
"You're lying," Sloane whispered, shaking her head frantically. "He wouldn't just abandon me."
"Do you believe a man who built an empire prioritizes a liability over survival?" Alden asked calmly.
He turned away from her, completely dismissing her presence. She was no longer a threat; she was merely a problem waiting to be collected. He looked toward his men, who had finished escorting the guests out of the garden.
"Lock the front gates," Alden commanded. "When Mercer’s car arrives, put her in it. Do not let her back inside the house."
"Yes, sir," Marcus replied, moving to coordinate the security team.
The garden, previously crowded and loud, was now eerily quiet. The natural, cinematic lighting continued to cast soft, golden highlights over the manicured lawn, a beautiful backdrop to the devastation of the afternoon.
Alden finally turned his full attention back to Callista. The housemaid was still standing near him, her black dress immaculate, her white apron unwrinkled. She had not backed away when the guns were drawn, and she had not flinched when the murder was revealed.
He stepped closer to her, his broad shoulders blocking the sight of the ruined engagement arch. He looked down at her delicate features, his cold, sharp eyes softening into a gaze of profound, quiet gratitude.
"Are you unharmed, Callista?" Alden asked, his deep voice a low, reassuring rumble.
"I'm perfectly fine, sir," Callista replied, her expressive eyes searching his face. "Are you?"
"I am breathing," Alden said slowly. He raised his hand, his tattooed fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Why did you stay when the guests fled?"
"Because you were still here," Callista answered simply, her voice steady and unwavering.
Alden stared at her, the depth of her loyalty staggering him. She had swept the legs out from under a mafia princess to protect him from a slap, and she had stood by him while he threatened a war.
"You realize that by striking her, you have made yourself a target for the Mercer family?" Alden asked, his thumb lightly tracing the line of her jaw.
"I don't care," Callista whispered, leaning slightly into his touch. "I couldn't watch her hurt you. Not after everything she's done."
"Do you believe I will allow anyone to lay a hand on you while I draw breath?" Alden asked, the question serving as an absolute, unbreakable vow.
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"No," Callista smiled, a soft, beautiful expression that lit up her rosy face. "I know you won't."
They stood together in the quiet garden, sharing a moment of profound connection amidst the ruins of the engagement party. But the peace was fragile, and Alden knew the clock was ticking.
