Chapter 7
The grand staircase of the mansion curved upward, bathed in the same bright, airy light that defined the estate. Alexander took the steps two at a time, his polished leather shoes silent on the thick carpet. He reached the second floor and walked down the long corridor toward the east wing.
Two massive, armed men stood guard outside Oliver’s bedroom. They stiffened and nodded respectfully as their boss approached. Alexander didn't speak to them; he simply unlocked the heavy wooden door with his master key and pushed it open.
Inside, the room was a haven of quiet warmth. The lamps cast a soft glow. Oliver was sitting on the edge of his bed, having shed his formal waistcoat, now wearing a comfortable pair of pajamas. Sitting on the floor beside the bed, still wearing her elegant black maid dress, was Nora. She was reading from a large, illustrated storybook, her softly oval face animated as she voiced the characters.
She stopped immediately as Alexander entered, closing the book and scrambling to her feet. She smoothed her white apron, her head bowed in a posture of respectful submission.
"Mr. Whitlock," Nora said quietly.
"Dad!" Oliver cheered, jumping off the bed and running to his father.
Alexander dropped to one knee, wrapping his powerful arms around his son. He buried his face in the boy's hair, breathing in the scent of innocent childhood, a stark contrast to the betrayal downstairs. "Are you okay, Oliver?"
"I'm fine," Oliver smiled. "Nora reads the best stories. The dragon just ate the bad knight."
Alexander offered a small, rare smile. "That sounds like a very good story." He stood up, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, and looked at the housemaid.
"Nora," Alexander said, his deep voice losing some of its icy edge. "I need to ask you a few questions. Tell me exactly what you saw this afternoon."
Nora stood perfectly straight, her slender, elegant feminine proportions highlighted by the cinched waist of her uniform. She met his gaze directly, her expressive eyes filled with a quiet, undeniable strength.
"I was in the sunroom, arranging the floral centerpieces for tonight’s dinner," Nora began, her American accent calm and articulate. "The windows overlook the rose garden. I saw Miss Rhodes walking along the path. A man stepped out from behind the old stone fountain."
"Describe him," Alexander instructed.
"He was tall, nearly your height, sir," Nora detailed. "He wore a dark, tailored suit, but it looked worn, dusty. His hair was dark and swept back. He had a prominent, jagged scar extending from his left eyebrow down to his cheekbone. He looked..." She hesitated, searching for the right word. "He looked incredibly tired, but very dangerous."
Alexander’s chest tightened. It was Julian. There was no doubt left in his mind.
"And the interaction?" Alexander pressed gently. "With Bianca?"
"She did not look surprised to see him, Mr. Whitlock," Nora said softly, unwilling to lie to spare his feelings. "They spoke for several minutes in hushed tones. They seemed to be arguing at first. Then... then he reached out and grabbed her waist. She didn't fight him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him."
Alexander absorbed the information in absolute silence. His brother had survived the assassination attempt five years ago, an attack orchestrated by a rival family. Or so Alexander had believed. The truth was unraveling rapidly, and the threads were all leading back to his fiancée.
"Thank you, Nora," Alexander said quietly. "You showed immense courage tonight. You protected my son when no one else would."
"It is my job to care for Oliver, sir," Nora replied, a soft blush touching her delicate cheekbones.
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"No," Alexander corrected, his perceptive eyes locking onto hers. "It is your job to clean my house. What you did tonight was loyalty. And I reward loyalty."
He turned toward the door. "Stay here with him. The mansion is going on lockdown. Do not leave this room until I return."
