Chapter 6
The warm golden light illuminated the flawless perfection of Rosalind’s makeup. She did not flinch under the suffocating weight of the silence. She sat up straighter, adjusting the diamond earrings that brushed her jawline, and prepared to extinguish the fire with aristocratic arrogance.
Rosalind looked directly at Damien, meeting his intense, terrifying gaze with a small, composed smile. It was a smile completely devoid of empathy, a weapon designed to remind everyone in the room of her untouchable status.
Before she could speak, Damien moved. He reached out with his tattooed hand, his luxury wristwatch gleaming. With a smooth, decisive motion, he pulled the silver tray holding the broken glass entirely across the table, moving the lethal fragments far beyond Jamie’s small reach. He shielded his son's hands from the danger without breaking eye contact with his fiancée.
"A little lesson in graceful walking," Rosalind stated, her American accent dripping with condescending superiority.
The words echoed off the cream marble columns. It was an arrogant deflection, a brazen admission of guilt disguised as a necessary disciplinary measure for an overstepping employee.
"A lesson?" Damien repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
"The girl is clumsy, Damien," Rosalind continued smoothly, gesturing dismissively toward Alice. "She needs to learn to watch her step. She ruined an expensive gown today. In my father's house, incompetence is punished to ensure it is not repeated."
The fifty guests surrounding the tables held their collective breath. The tension was a physical, vibrating force. To openly challenge the fiancée of the boss was dangerous, but Rosalind had just admitted to attempting to mutilate a woman in Damien’s own home. Worse, she had disguised the torture device in a way that had allowed the boss's six-year-old heir to handle broken glass.
"Does teaching a lesson in grace require turning a pair of shoes into a torture device, Rosalind?" Damien inquired softly.
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"It requires doing whatever is necessary to maintain order," Rosalind snapped back, her composed smile fracturing slightly at the edges. "You cannot possibly be upset over a maid's comfort when we have important guests to entertain."
Damien ignored her entirely. He slowly turned his head back to Alice. The housemaid was still standing beside his chair, her graceful posture rigid with suppressed terror, her hands gripping the silver water pitcher like a lifeline.
