“Celia took my hearing aid.”

The sprawling mansion was eerily quiet as Dorian led Maren up the sweeping marble staircase. The luminous, airy glow of the first floor gave way to the softer, more muted lighting of the private residential wing. The warm golden hues of the wall sconces guided them past gilded mirrors and heavy silk curtains, leading them to the massive oak doors of Dorian’s private study.

The study was a sanctuary of deep leather, rich mahogany, and walls lined with rare books. It felt isolated from the rest of the vast estate. Dorian walked behind his massive carved walnut desk, pouring a small measure of amber liquid into a crystal glass. He offered it to Maren.

"Would you care for a drink to calm your nerves before the real war begins?" Dorian asked.

Maren accepted the crystal glass, her fingers briefly brushing against the refined artistic tattoos on his hand. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm. "Thank you, sir."

Dorian poured a glass for himself and leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his long legs at the ankles. He took a slow sip, his cold, perceptive eyes never leaving her beautifully tapered face. The soft, elegant warmth of the desk lamp illuminated the powerful breadth of his shoulders in his tailored three-piece suit.

"Are you aware of the retaliation that will follow Celia's dismissal?" Dorian asked, his tone shifting back to the calculating, serious cadence of a man preparing for absolute war.

"I know her father is a very powerful man," Maren admitted, taking a small sip of the liquor to soothe her dry throat. "The Ward syndicate won't accept a broken engagement peacefully. They will want revenge."

"Do you believe I fear the wrath of a man who raised a monster?" Dorian asked, his eyes darkening with lethal intent.

"No, sir," Maren replied softly. "I think you are going to destroy him."

Dorian set his own glass down on the desk. He stood to his full height, his powerful, masculine shoulders squared. The war with the Ward syndicate was no longer a possibility; it was an absolute certainty. The streets would run red before the weekend was over.

"Will you accept a change in your employment, Maren?" Dorian asked suddenly, shifting the topic with whiplash speed.

Maren blinked, her expressive brows furrowing in confusion. "A change, sir?"

"Do you believe your talents are best utilized dusting mirrors and suffering abuse?" Dorian asked, taking a slow step toward her.

Maren’s breath hitched in her throat. The imposing frame of the mafia boss filled her vision as he stepped closer. The warm golden light of the study caught the fine lines framing his perceptive eyes, revealing a depth of character she had never fully appreciated.

"What kind of change, Mr. Hartwell?" Maren asked, her heart racing against her ribs.

"Would you prefer to assume the role of my personal confidante, answering to absolutely no one in this house but me?" Dorian asked.

Maren stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the offer. It was a position of high respect and immense trust, offering security that far exceeded her role as a housemaid. It meant she would no longer be invisible; she would be a central figure in the life of the mafia boss.

"Are you serious, sir?" Maren asked, a radiant, beautiful smile breaking across her fair, rosy face.