Chapter 2
The ambient hum of the crowded Christmas reception flowed seamlessly around the room, masking the quiet, desperate exhaustion radiating from the young maid. The clinking of crystal glasses and the soft scraping of polished shoes continued across the vast salon. Clara paused at the base of the stepladder, her fair hands trembling slightly as she gripped the lightweight star. Her breath hitched in her chest. She had been working for sixteen hours straight, driven to the point of collapse by Celeste’s relentless, punishing demands.
"Are you quite alright to climb that, Clara?" a passing guest asked, noting the dark shadows beneath the maid's expressive eyes.
"I am perfectly fine, sir," Clara whispered, forcing a polite, submissive tone. "Thank you for asking. I just need to finish the tree."
Clara placed one foot on the lowest wooden step. As she shifted her weight upward, a sickening sound echoed beneath her. The ladder shifted slightly, the wood groaning and swaying in a way it never had before. Clara paused, freezing in place, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She looked down, a surge of raw adrenaline cutting through her exhaustion.
A few feet away, Celeste stood holding a glass of champagne. The fiancée looked directly at Clara. There was no concern in her gaze, only a tight, chilling smile that failed entirely to reach her eyes.
"Higher," Celeste commanded, her American accent dripping with a manufactured, icy pragmatism. "The star won’t hang itself, Clara. Do not keep our guests waiting for the grand finale."
Clara swallowed hard, terrified of disobeying the future lady of the house in front of the entire syndicate. She gripped the side rails, preparing to risk another unsteady step.
Before she could move, a small, cheerful voice broke through the unbearable tension.
Six-year-old Oliver Ashford stepped out from behind the velvet sofas. Dressed impeccably in a cream Christmas sweater, his fair, rosy cheeks were flushed with the excitement of the holiday. He carried a small, worn teddy bear in one hand, completely oblivious to the dangerous syndicate politics swirling around him.
Oliver approached Celeste, looking up at her with a wide, completely sincere smile. He opened his small palm, revealing three heavy steel screws resting against his skin.
"Auntie," Oliver asked, his young voice ringing clearly over the sound of the crackling fireplace. "Does Teddy need your ladder screws?"
May you like
The words dropped into the immediate vicinity like a live explosive charge. The ambient noise of the nearby conversations suddenly felt muted, distant.
Damon, who had been listening quietly to a lieutenant’s report, instantly stopped breathing. The cold, unyielding armor he wore as the mafia boss slipped for a fraction of a second. He turned his head sharply, his dark, sweeping gaze moving from the screws in his son's hand directly to the swaying stepladder where Clara stood frozen in terror.
