Chapter 2
Anwen stared at the large, tattooed hand offered to her. The designs on Duncan’s fingers were sharp, refined lines utilizing negative space so perfectly they looked like dark, lethal art against his fair, rosy skin. Without hesitating, she reached out. Her small, trembling fingers gripped his firm hand.
Duncan pulled her smoothly and effortlessly onto the dry, safe center of the terrace. His grip was entirely steady, grounding her chaotic panic in an instant. He released her hand only when he was certain she had found her footing. The heavy gold family signet ring on his finger caught the bright light of the pool as he adjusted his tailored suit jacket.
"Thank you, sir," Anwen whispered, her American accent wavering. She kept her head bowed, her arms still wrapped tightly around her torso, the crushed brown envelope pressed against her white apron.
Duncan’s cold, sharp, intimidating eyes shifted downward. He noticed the torn, empty pay envelope clutched in her hands. The ambient noise of the engagement party seemed to fade into a dull, distant hum. The vibrant, bright video colors of the scene—the neon blue of the water, the stark white of Anwen’s lace headband, the deep charcoal of his suit—felt suddenly charged with static electricity.
He slowly lifted his gaze from the envelope, bringing his eyes up to meet Anwen’s frightened, tear-filled stare.
"Anwen," Duncan said, keeping his voice a low, precise rumble that forced everyone nearby to hold their breath just to hear him. "How much. Did Felice. Take?"
Anwen looked directly at Duncan, blinking hard to keep the tears from spilling over her rosy cheeks. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She knew the danger of answering truthfully in front of his fiancée, but the absolute, terrifying authority in his eyes demanded nothing less than complete honesty. Her fingers nervously crumpled the empty envelope, the sound of crinkling paper painfully loud in the sudden quiet.
"Everything," Anwen replied, shaking violently from the adrenaline and the cold night air. "Everything you gave me for my son."
Felice let out a sharp, derisive scoff, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her diamond earrings sparkled aggressively.
"Oh, don't play the victim," Felice snapped, crossing her arms tightly over the bodice of her evening gown. "She was stealing time, Duncan. I caught her leaving early twice this week. I was merely docking her pay for breach of contract. We cannot have the staff thinking they run this estate."
Duncan slowly turned his entire body toward Felice. His movements were deliberate, predatory, and devoid of any wasted energy. He did not raise his voice. He did not alter his expression.
"I manage the payroll," Duncan stated, the slow, controlled pauses turning the sentence into a razor blade. "I gave her the envelope. Personally."
Felice’s smile tightened into a thin, brittle line. She realized she had overstepped, but her pride refused to let her back down in front of the wealthy guests who were now openly staring at the altercation. She lifted a defiant chin, her fair skin flushing with a stubborn, aristocratic anger.
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"Then she should’ve kept him a secret," Felice said, her tone cold and dismissive. "It is entirely inappropriate for a maid to be parading her illegitimate baggage around this property. It reflects poorly on us, Duncan. On our future."
Duncan’s expression did not change, but the temperature on the terrace seemed to plummet to absolute zero. He stared at his fiancée, the woman he was supposed to marry in a matter of weeks, and the pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even realized he was solving began to snap violently into place.
