Chapter 2
The ambient hum of the crowded Christmas reception flowed seamlessly around the room, masking the quiet, desperate terror radiating from the young maid. The clinking of crystal glasses and the soft scraping of polished shoes continued across the vast salon, but near the antique mahogany wardrobe, a profound, innocent tragedy was rapidly unfolding.
Elise pulled her arm free from Sarah’s grasp. She walked along the perimeter of the room, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She paused near the heavy evergreen garlands framing the salon entrance. Her breath hitched. Beneath the festive music and the roaring conversation, she heard it—a faint, muffled, agonizing whimper.
She turned her head, her expressive eyes locking onto the heavy, carved doors of the antique mahogany wardrobe. The keyhole was empty. The doors were shut tight.
"Oh, God," Elise whispered, her fair skin paling to a ghostly white. "She locked him in."
She didn't hesitate for a single second. Elise turned on her heel and sprinted through the service doors, ignoring the shocked gasps of the kitchen staff as she tore through the culinary prep area. She reached the head butler’s office, throwing the door open.
"I need the master key," Elise demanded, her chest heaving against her rumpled white apron.
"Have you lost your mind, Elise?" the head butler scolded, standing up from his desk. "Get back to the reception before the boss notices you are gone."
"I said give me the key!" Elise shouted, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "Evan is locked in the wardrobe in the grand foyer! He's been in there for an hour!"
The butler’s face drained of color. Without another word, he yanked open his desk drawer and tossed a heavy brass key across the desk. Elise caught it, her fingers trembling violently, and ran back the way she came.
When she burst back through the service doors into the grand foyer, the cinematic lighting seemed to mock her terror. She practically collided with a velvet sofa as she rushed toward the mahogany wardrobe.
Across the room, Daphne saw the disheveled maid approaching the antique furniture. The polished smile vanished from the fiancée's face, replaced by a flash of genuine, murderous rage.
"Excuse me, Marcus," Daphne said abruptly, cutting off the capo mid-sentence. She picked up the skirt of her emerald satin gown and began to weave quickly through the elegantly dressed guests, intent on stopping the servant.
"Elise! Step away from there immediately!" Daphne ordered, her voice kept low but vibrating with venom.
Elise ignored her. She reached the wardrobe, her hands shaking so badly she dropped the key on her first attempt. She scooped it off the polished marble floor, her breathing erratic and panicked.
Nathan Vale, who had been listening quietly to a lieutenant’s report, noticed the sudden movement. His dark, intelligent eyes tracked his fiancée’s rapid, angry stride, and then landed on the trembling maid desperately trying to unlock a piece of furniture. The deep, controlled rhythm of his breathing halted. The cold, unyielding armor he wore as the mafia boss slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a profound, dangerous questioning. He handed his crystal glass to a passing waiter and began to walk toward the salon entrance.
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Elise finally forced the heavy brass key into the antique lock. She turned it, the metallic click echoing loudly in her own ears.
Daphne took a quick, aggressive step toward Elise, raising her hand as if to strike the maid, but she froze instantly. The sheer, masculine power radiating from Nathan’s broad shoulders eclipsed the room as he approached them both.
