Chapter 1
The grand foyer of the Vale estate was flooded entirely with a warm, golden light that radiated from magnificent, cascading crystal chandeliers. There was no muddy yellow tint to the illumination; it was a pure, cinematic glow that reflected flawlessly off the polished marble floors and the gilded mirrors lining the walls. Dozens of tall ivory candles flickered within ornate brass candelabras, casting shimmering highlights across the carved walnut furniture and the rich burgundy velvet sofas. A towering Christmas tree stood near the sweeping staircase, sparkling brilliantly with golden fairy lights, crimson ribbons, and heirloom ornaments. Evergreen garlands wrapped tightly around the banisters, filling the air with the sharp, fresh scent of pine. Fifty elegantly dressed guests—a lethal mixture of syndicate capos, wealthy politicians, and elite socialites—mingled in the adjacent ballroom, their fair, rosy skin bathed in the elegant warmth of the holiday reception.
But tucked away in the shadows of the sweeping staircase, completely divorced from the festive cheer, a brutal ultimatum was taking place.
Lila Hart stood backed against a heavy mahogany console table. The twenty-five-year-old housemaid was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing delicate features and highly expressive eyes that were currently wide with sheer, unadulterated terror. She wore a traditional black maid dress, a pristine white apron, crisp white collar and cuffs, and a white ruffled maid headband. However, her uniform was a ruin. Her dress was noticeably creased, her apron was rumpled, and her lace headband sat entirely crooked in her slightly disheveled dark hair.
Resting on the console table beside her was a closed, heavy leather travel bag.
"You are leaving tonight, Lila," a smooth, venomous voice commanded.
Camille Shaw stood opposite the trembling maid. The twenty-nine-year-old socialite was draped in a luxurious emerald satin evening gown that clung perfectly to her figure. Heavy diamond earrings flashed with every tilt of her head. She was Mason Vale’s fiancée, and she carried the arrogant, untouchable power of a woman born into syndicate royalty.
Camille reached out, her manicured hand forcefully pushing the heavy travel bag along the console until it hit Lila’s hip.
Lila instinctively recoiled, her breathing shallow and ragged. She brought one hand up, resting it fiercely and protectively against a small, undeniable pregnancy bump that was just barely visible beneath her rumpled white apron.
"Please," Lila begged, her American accent cracking with profound desperation. "Let me keep my baby. I will leave the city. I will never speak to Mason again. Just please, don't take my child."
"The arrangement is already finalized," Camille stated, her voice dropping into a quiet, chilling register. "A very wealthy, very discreet couple has paid a fortune for Mason's unborn bastard. You will get in the car waiting at the service gate, and you will deliver the child to them when the time comes."
"I won't do it," Lila whispered, tears finally spilling over her lower eyelids. "You can't force me to sell my baby."
May you like
Camille’s polished public smile vanished, replaced by a mask of sheer, calculating malice. "I can, and I am. Because if you do not walk out that door in the next two minutes, my men will pay a visit to that care facility where your mother lives on a ventilator. Do you understand me, maid? Defy me, and your mother drowns in her own lungs by midnight."
Lila squeezed her eyes shut, a sob tearing at her throat. She was entirely trapped, cornered by a monster in a house full of unimaginable wealth.
