Chapter 5
The silence in the opulent dining room became a physical, suffocating pressure. The dozens of ivory candles flickering in their gilded candelabras seemed to be the only things moving in the entire, luminous space. The clear, warm lighting left absolutely no shadows for the cruelty to hide within.
Every single dinner guest at the long banquet table stopped eating. Forks hovered motionless over fine porcelain plates. Crystal glasses were lowered slowly back to the tables. The polite, affluent conversation died entirely in their throats, replaced by a terrifying, breathless vacuum. Fifty faces turned toward the head of the table, their fair skin paling as they watched the mafia boss.
Damien’s artistic tattoos with negative space flexed visibly as his hands gripped the edge of the carved walnut table. He did not yell. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous than an explosion of rage.
"Alice," Damien said.
His voice was deep, slow, and incredibly controlled, but the sheer gravity of his tone made the crystal chandeliers seem to rattle. He kept his cold, unwavering gaze locked entirely on the broken, exhausted housemaid.
"Is that broken glass?" Damien asked.
The question hung in the bright air like an executioner's blade. It was not a question born of curiosity; it was a deadly demand for confirmation, dripping with the absolute promise of retribution.
Alice swallowed hard, her pulse racing frantically. She met Damien’s cold, unyielding gaze. Her chest heaved rapidly beneath the fitted black fabric of her creased dress. She knew the extreme danger of answering that question. She knew the power of the Shaw family, and she knew Rosalind’s capacity for sadistic violence.
"Sir, I..." Alice stammered, her voice a fragile whisper.
May you like
"Answer me, Alice," Damien commanded gently, though the authority in his voice left no room for defiance.
Before Alice could force the words past her trembling lips, Rosalind shifted smoothly in her velvet dining chair. The emerald satin of her gown rustled loudly in the dead-silent room. She recognized the catastrophic danger of the moment and moved quickly to control the narrative before the mafia boss dismantled her polished facade completely.
