Chapter 3
The dinner service had moved with flawless, terrifying precision, a testament to the iron grip Callan held over his household. The main courses were being cleared by a silent, efficient staff, leaving only the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of crystal glasses. Nadine moved gracefully toward the head table, her heart hammering a frantic, irregular rhythm against her ribs. Rex, loyal and sensing her distress, padded silently beside her, his muddy paws leaving faint, damning prints on the immaculate marble floor.
She stepped up to the polished walnut table, positioning herself directly beside Wyatt’s champagne velvet chair.
"Are you ready for your plate to be cleared, young master?" Nadine whispered, leaning down under the guise of attending to the boy.
Wyatt looked up at her, his eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Marietta noticed the dog immediately. Her sculpted satin gown rustled as she stiffened in her chair. "Nadine, what is that animal doing in the dining room?" she hissed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the surrounding guests. "And look at his paws! He is ruining the floors. Remove him at once."
Nadine did not look at Marietta. She reached into the pocket of her pristine white apron.
"I apologize, Miss Vale," Nadine said, her voice remarkably steady despite the adrenaline flooding her veins. "But Rex brought something to the house that belongs to the family."
Callan, whose perceptive eyes rarely missed a single shift in his environment, turned his head. His sharp jaw tightened as he noticed the dirt on the floor, the dog, and the unnatural stiffness in his housemaid's elegant posture.
Nadine drew a crisp, white linen napkin from her apron. With deliberate, agonizing slowness so as not to draw the attention of the surrounding capos too quickly, she placed the folded napkin directly onto the polished walnut table, right beside Callan’s fine porcelain plate.
Callan frowned slightly, his thick eyebrows drawing together. He paused with his silver fork halfway to his mouth.
Nadine slowly opened the folds of the white linen.
Resting in the center of the pristine fabric was the distinctive, braided gold wedding band. It was completely caked in dark, wet earth.
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Callan’s eyes dropped to the object. The movement of his hands ceased entirely. The heavy silver fork slowly lowered, clinking softly against the edge of his plate. He recognized the intricate, custom braided design instantly. He had placed that ring on Lara's finger ten years ago.
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Callan’s broad shoulders went perfectly rigid. The refined tattoos across his hands flexed as he gripped the edge of the table. He stared at the muddy ring, the lie he had been fed for six months shattering instantly in his mind. Lara had not packed a bag. Lara had not taken a plane.
He didn't yell. He didn't draw a weapon. He slowly turned his head, the loose strands of hair shifting over his forehead, and looked directly into Nadine’s expressive eyes, piercing through her with a terrifying, unyielding intensity.
