Chapter 4
The opulent grand foyer was suffocatingly quiet. The ivory candles burning in their ornate brass candelabras seemed to cast harsh, judgmental shadows over Daphne’s emerald satin gown. The polished, reassuring smile that usually charmed the syndicate members had completely evaporated, leaving behind a feral mask of aristocratic entitlement and cornered panic.
Elise felt the crushing weight of fifty gazes, but the only eyes that mattered were the ones burning into hers. The mafia boss’s dark, intense stare was stripping away the layers of her fear, demanding the absolute truth. She knew that answering this question would either save the little boy she loved, or it would seal her own death warrant.
Tears gathered heavily along Elise’s lower eyelids, making her highly expressive eyes shine brilliantly in the golden light. She steadied a trembling breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly against her rumpled white apron.
She held Nathan's gaze, refusing to look away, drawing on a well of courage she didn't know she possessed. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second, but when she spoke, she kept her voice incredibly steady, carrying clearly across the silent room.
"Daphne," Elise stated. "For calling me Mommy."
The devastating confession dropped onto the polished marble floor like toxic acid. A collective, audible gasp erupted from the surrounding guests. The murmurs of the elite syndicate members died instantly. The room was suddenly paralyzed. The woman destined to be the queen of the Vale syndicate had just been publicly accused of locking the boss's heir in a dark box out of sheer, petty jealousy over a maid.
Daphne’s face drained of color. She briefly, almost imperceptibly, darted her eyes toward the watching guests, calculating the political damage of the moment. When she faced Nathan again, her polished smile tightened into a thin, cruel line that failed entirely to reach the coldness in her eyes. She believed her status as the daughter of a powerful allied family made her completely untouchable.
"A servant doesn’t get called Mommy," Daphne stated clearly, her American accent dripping with a manufactured, icy pragmatism.
She had not denied the accusation; she had merely attempted to justify it as a necessary disciplinary measure, brushing off the psychological torture of a child as a mundane inconvenience.
"Are you insane, Daphne?" an older relative whispered loudly from a nearby sofa.
"I am establishing boundaries!" Daphne shrieked defensively, her diamond earrings swinging as she stepped forward. "The boy is confused! He clings to this pathetic, disheveled creature instead of respecting his future stepmother! I am trying to mold him into a proper heir for this syndicate! I had to assert dominance to remind the staff of their place!"
Nathan did not respond to Daphne. He did not even turn his head to acknowledge her frantic, venomous excuses. His unwavering, intense focus remained entirely on the young woman standing beside his son.
"You locked my son in a dark box because you are jealous of the comfort he finds in a maid?" Nathan asked slowly, his deep voice slicing through her hysteria with effortless, measured authority.
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"I am protecting this family's image!" Daphne argued, slamming her manicured hands against her sides. "It makes you look weak, Nathan! You let her coddle him!"
"The only thing making me look weak," Nathan replied, his voice dropping into a lethal register, "is the fact that I allowed a monster to stand by my side for this long."
