Chapter 5
The silence in the grand ballroom became a physical, suffocating pressure. The dozens of ivory candles flickering in their gilded candelabras seemed to be the only things moving in the entire, luminous space. The clear, warm lighting left absolutely no shadows for the cruelty to hide within.
Marcus stood tall, his imposing frame casting a protective shadow over Mira. He did not yell. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous than an explosion of rage. He completely ignored his fiancée. He kept his cold, unwavering gaze locked entirely on the broken, exhausted housemaid.
"Mira," Marcus said.
His voice was deep, slow, and incredibly controlled, but the sheer gravity of his tone made the crystal chandeliers seem to rattle.
"Was it your choice?" Marcus asked.
The question hung in the bright air like an executioner's blade. It was not a question born of curiosity; it was a deadly demand for confirmation, dripping with the absolute promise of retribution.
Mira swallowed hard, her pulse racing frantically. She met Marcus’s cold, unyielding gaze. Her chest heaved rapidly. She knew the extreme danger of answering that question. She knew the power of the Vane family, and she knew Candice’s capacity for sadistic violence.
But looking into Marcus’s dark, commanding eyes, feeling the absolute, terrifying demand for the truth radiating from his masculine frame, Mira found she had no choice. The presence of the mafia boss stripped away her ability to lie.
Tears gathered heavily along Mira’s lower eyelids, glittering in the chandelier light, but she did not break his gaze.
"Candice held me down for it," Mira stated.
Her voice remained quiet and clear, carrying a fragile tremor that betrayed her exhaustion, yet it was devastatingly absolute. The admission was a knife to the chest of the entire syndicate. The sheer, sociopathic malice of mutilating a servant to steal her hair for a photograph sent a fresh wave of horror through the room.
Candice’s face drained of all color. The fair, rosy skin turned a sickly, translucent white beneath her emerald satin gown. She opened her mouth to speak, to scream a denial, to call the maid a liar, but her vocal cords were paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming terror radiating from the man standing opposite her.
Before the tension could snap into violence, Noah stepped directly between them. The six-year-old boy, completely unfazed by the terrifying aura of his father, walked up to Mira.
Noah reached up with his small hands. He offered Mira the handmade paper-star crown, gently pressing it against her side.
May you like
Marcus did not hesitate. His reaction was deliberate, fueled by a cold, terrifying, protective adrenaline. He stepped smoothly between Candice and Mira. He placed his broad shoulders entirely in front of the housemaid, physically shielding both the weeping woman and his young son from his fiancée.
Marcus held Candice’s gaze, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. Candice’s trembling fingers rose instinctively toward the stolen braid in her hair, a gesture of panicked defense, but under his lethal stare, her hands became completely still.
