Chapter 4
The silence in the grand ballroom expanded until it felt heavy enough to shatter the towering glass windows. The clean, cool-neutral daylight illuminated the absolute horror on Celestine’s rosy face as she stared at the sight of her younger sister, a housemaid in a soaked apron, seated in the chair reserved for the head of the Wycliffe syndicate.
Stellan did not look at the guests. He kept his posture relaxed, his hands resting lightly by his sides, his polished shoes planted firmly on the marble.
"Stellan," Celestine whispered, her voice finally losing its arrogant polish. "What are you doing? Get her out of your chair. People are staring."
Amabel looked up at Stellan. The sheer proximity to the Mafia boss made her heart hammer against her ribs, but the terrifyingly calm shield of his presence gave her a sudden, desperate surge of courage. He had not struck her sister. He had not shouted. He had dismantled Celestine's power simply by pulling out a chair.
Amabel held his cold, sharp gaze as her voice became clear, carrying through the absolute quiet of the immediate circle.
"The baby is your son," Amabel said, quiet and certain.
Stellan’s tattooed hand, which had been resting casually on the carved mahogany back of the chair, stopped completely. For the first time since he entered the room, a flicker of genuine shock pierced the icy composure of his slate-grey eyes.
Celestine’s smile disappeared entirely. The blood drained from her fair skin, leaving her looking like a porcelain doll that had been dropped onto concrete.
"She is lying!" Celestine shrieked, the sudden volume shattering the elegant warmth of the reception. "She is a psychotic, jealous liar! Stellan, do not listen to a word she says! She is trying to ruin my life because she has nothing!"
Stellan slowly, deliberately turned his head toward Celestine.
"Is he lying, Amabel?" Stellan asked, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost a vibration against the marble floor.
"No," Amabel replied, her hands resting on her lap. "Nine months ago. The night of the winter gala, before you announced your engagement to my sister. You came to the library. You thought I was Celestine in the dark."
Stellan closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. The memory flashed perfectly in his mind. The dark room, the soft skin, the overwhelming scent of jasmine, the woman who had slipped away before the lights were turned on. He had believed it was his newly betrothed.
He opened his eyes. The coldness within them had transformed into something far more dangerous. It was the look of a man who realized his entire future had been manipulated by the woman standing before him.
"You knew," Stellan said, his measured words directed entirely at Celestine. "You knew she was carrying my child."
"I protected you!" Celestine cried out, stepping backward as the bodyguards stationed around the room subtly shifted their stances, their hands resting over the buttons of their formal jackets. "She was a maid! If you had known, you would have felt obligated to her! I saved you from a lifetime of embarrassment!"
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"Where is my son?" Stellan asked. He did not step toward her. He did not raise his hands.
"I won't tell you," Celestine breathed, crossing her arms defensively. "If you humiliate me today, you will never see him. I used a proxy. Only I have the address."
