Chapter 9
The transition from the opulent, massive dining hall to the quiet, secure residential wing of the mansion was a journey through changing light. The bright, airy luminosity of the lower floors gave way to a softer, more intimate golden warmth in the private corridors. Ivory-paneled walls lined with classical art passed in a blur as Edith carefully pushed Marcus's wheelchair down the hall, with little Tobias walking closely by her side, clutching the fabric of her black skirt.
"Will you assist my son to his suite, Edith?" Marcus had asked in the dining hall. "Will you stay with him until I return?"
"I won't leave his side, Mr. Wexler," Edith had promised.
Now, standing outside the heavy oak doors of the master suite, Edith brought the wheelchair to a smooth halt. She expertly engaged the functional brake on the left wheel, ensuring the heavy steel chair was locked firmly in place.
"Thank you, Edith," Marcus said quietly, his deep voice vibrating in the empty corridor.
"You're welcome, sir," Edith replied, her American accent soft. "I will get Tobias settled in his room now."
"Will you accompany me to my study after he is asleep?" Marcus inquired, turning his head to look over his broad shoulder at her. "Will you help me review the security protocols for the estate before the retaliation begins?"
Edith’s heart fluttered against her ribs. The sheer, deeply masculine power he projected was overwhelming, yet she felt entirely safe in his presence. "I would be honored, Mr. Wexler. I will be down in twenty minutes."
"I will be waiting," Marcus promised.
Edith guided Tobias into his bedroom, moving with elegant, polished efficiency. She helped the exhausted seven-year-old out of his formal dinner jacket and into soft cotton pajamas. Tobias was unusually quiet, the emotional toll of the evening finally catching up to him. Once he was tucked beneath the heavy down comforter, Edith sat on the edge of the mattress, gently stroking his hair until his breathing evened out into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar, Edith made her way down to the mahogany-paneled study on the ground floor. The room was unusually quiet, the emotional toll of the evening finally catching up to her.
The heavy oak door of the study clicked shut softly.
Marcus was seated behind his massive desk, his wheelchair positioned perfectly. He had removed his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing more of the refined artistic tattoos on his forearms. He looked up from the documents he was reading as she entered.
"Do you believe she acted alone, Edith?" Marcus asked softly, his deep voice a mere whisper in the quiet room.
Edith walked over to the desk, her expressive brows drawing together. "I don't know, Mr. Wexler. But if she was willing to hurt your mother, she is capable of anything."
"Did you fear for your life when you held that chair in the dining hall?" Marcus asked, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Yes, Mr. Wexler," Edith assured him, her voice steady.
"Are you aware of the danger you placed yourself in tonight, Edith?" Marcus finally asked.
Edith looked up into his cold, observant eyes, refusing to shrink back. "I am, sir. But I couldn't let her continue to build a life on the destruction of this family."
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"Does it surprise you to learn that loyalty to the truth is the rarest commodity in my world?" Marcus inquired, leaning forward in his chair.
"I suppose it is, sir," Edith whispered.
