Chapter 2
Deep within the sprawling corridors of the mansion, far from the warmth of the crystal chandeliers, Iris Hayes was doing her best to coax a terrified child out of the shadows. At twenty-seven, the housemaid possessed a beauty that effortlessly rivaled any movie star in the grand dining hall. She had a softly rounded face, gently arched brows, and delicate cheekbones that were currently pinched with profound worry. Her fair, rosy skin was pale tonight, reflecting a deep, internalized panic. Her thick hair was arranged meticulously into a loose side braid pinned elegantly at the nape of her neck.
Iris wore a sophisticated black maid dress featuring a cinched waist, a fitted silhouette, and a short A-line skirt. A neatly tied white apron, paired with a crisp white collar and cuffs, completed her polished appearance. Her slender figure and graceful posture allowed her to kneel comfortably on the runner rug, bringing herself down to the eye level of seven-year-old Miles Bennett.
"I don't want to go in there, Iris," Miles whispered, his voice trembling violently.
The little boy wore a pristine cream shirt, a tailored dark waistcoat, and polished shoes. He had been formally adopted by Caleb just months prior, rescued from a life of profound neglect. Miles was a quiet, eager-to-please child who watched adults closely before reaching for anything, a survival mechanism born of past trauma. But tonight, his usual eagerness had been replaced by stark terror.
"I know it's a big room with a lot of people, sweetie," Iris murmured, her American accent soft and deeply soothing. She reached out, gently adjusting the lapels of his dark waistcoat. "But your father is out there. He has been away for so long, and he specifically asked for you to sit right beside him tonight."
"She doesn't want me there," Miles choked out, a single tear spilling over his fair cheek. "Sabine said I ruin the dinners. She said I belong in the kitchen with the staff."
Iris’s heart plummeted into her stomach, a hot wave of fury washing over her. Sabine Voss, the beautiful, aristocratic woman who was slated to marry the Mafia boss, had spent the last three weeks systematically tormenting the child the moment Caleb’s car had left the driveway. Sabine had repeatedly forced Miles to eat his meals alone in the industrial kitchens, isolated and humiliated.
"Sabine doesn't make the rules about where you sit, Miles," Iris said firmly, her voice carrying a quiet, fierce conviction. "This is your home. You are a Bennett. Your father made sure of that."
"But she said—"
"Listen to me," Iris interrupted gently, taking his small hands in hers. "Your father loves you. He is the boss of this entire house, and he wants you at his table. I will be right there serving the food. I won't let you out of my sight. Do you trust me?"
Miles sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his cream sleeve. He looked into Iris's expressive eyes and nodded slowly. "I trust you, Iris."
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"Good boy," Iris smiled, though her stomach twisted with anxiety. "Now, let's go show them how handsome you look."
She stood up, her graceful posture returning as she took his hand. Together, they walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the golden, cascading light of the grand dining hall, stepping into a battlefield disguised as a celebration.
