Chapter 9
The bright, natural cinematic lighting of the office cast long, sharp shadows across the floor as Roland closed the distance between them. He stopped just inches away, his towering, masculine presence overwhelming but no longer terrifying to her.
"I cannot simply let you walk away, Mavis," Roland said, his voice a low, magnetic hum. "The Thorne family knows who you are now. They know you are the reason their empire is crumbling today. If you leave this estate, Vincent and his men will hunt you down. They will silence you to protect whatever shred of dignity they have left."
Mavis’s eyes widened, her fair skin paling at the grim reality of his words. "They would kill me?"
"Without hesitation," Roland confirmed coldly. "You are the living proof of their greatest humiliation."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Mavis asked, her voice cracking with a sudden, desperate panic. She clutched the fabric of her black maid dress, her knuckles turning white. "I have no money. I have nowhere to go. I am trapped."
Roland reached out. His heavily tattooed hand, adorned with the refined, sharp designs, gently rested on her shoulder. The touch was firm, grounding her in the escalating chaos.
"You are not trapped," Roland whispered, his deep, raspy voice offering a dangerous kind of salvation. "You are under my protection. You will remain in this estate. You will be given the master suite in the east wing. You will have a private studio, flooded with natural light, stocked with the finest materials in the world."
Mavis stared up at him, her beautiful, movie-star features reflecting sheer disbelief. "You are giving me a studio?"
"I am giving you an empire," Roland corrected her slowly. "The world believes the genius behind those paintings is my fiancée. Tomorrow, I will release a public statement. I will expose Camellia’s fraud, and I will introduce the true master to the art world. You will paint, Mavis. And you will paint only for me."
"Why are you doing this for me?" Mavis breathed, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "You could have just fired me. You could have thrown me out."
Roland looked down at her. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead gave him an undeniably romantic look, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating Mafia boss who had just threatened to burn a man alive.
"Because when I looked at that portrait," Roland said softly, his intimidating eyes softening into something raw and vulnerable, "I saw a woman who truly understood me. You captured the darkness, Mavis. But you also painted the light. I want to see what else you can create when you are no longer hiding in the shadows."
Mavis felt tears well in her eyes, not of fear, but of profound, overwhelming relief. For two years, she had been a ghost, a nameless servant forced to scrub floors and bleed her soul onto canvases for another woman's glory. Now, the most dangerous man in the city was offering her the world on a silver platter.
"I will paint for you, Roland," Mavis whispered, using his first name for the very first time.
A genuine, breathtaking smile finally broke across Roland’s angular face. It was a fleeting, beautiful thing that transformed the terrifying monster into a devastatingly handsome man.
"Good," Roland said. He stepped back, the professional, authoritative distance returning instantly. "Then we have work to do. Take off the apron, Mavis. We are going back into the gallery."
May you like
Mavis reached behind her back, her fingers trembling as she untied the knot of her stained, starched white apron. She let it fall to the plush carpet, stepping out of the symbol of her servitude forever.
"I am ready," Mavis said, lifting her chin with a newfound, unshakable confidence.
