Chapter 3
The heavy, soundproofed oak doors of Nathaniel’s private study closed with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the four of them away from the rest of the mansion. The study was a stark contrast to the bright, golden opulence of the dining hall. Here, the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, and the air was thick with the scent of aged leather, expensive scotch, and burning Cuban tobacco. A single, low-hanging emerald-glass lamp illuminated the massive desk at the center of the room, casting long, sharp shadows across the Persian rug.
Elise immediately guided Agnes to a plush leather armchair near the unlit hearth. The elderly woman sank into the deep cushions, her frail hands gripping the carved head of her wooden walking cane as if it were her only anchor to the world. Giselle, meanwhile, paced frantically near the center of the room, the flowing satin of her evening gown rustling violently with every erratic step.
Nathaniel walked slowly behind his desk. He did not sit. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing the flawless tailoring of his vest and the solid, muscular build of his powerful shoulders. The dim lighting threw the sharp, angular planes of his handsome face into stark relief, transforming him from a movie-star boss into an unforgiving executioner. He poured himself a crystal glass of amber liquid, though he made no move to drink it. He simply held it, his thumb tracing the rim, his dark, tattooed fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the glass.
He looked directly at the frail woman trembling in the armchair.
“What exactly did you hear on the night of the delivery, Agnes?”
Agnes closed her eyes, tears leaking down her wrinkled cheeks. “It was raining heavily. The doctor was delayed. It was just me, Giselle, and your late wife. After she passed... the babies came. They were small, Mr. Cross, but they were perfectly healthy. A boy and a girl. I heard them cry. I swear to you on my life, I heard their lungs fill with air and they cried.”
Giselle let out a derisive, hysterical scoff, throwing her hands in the air. “She is lying! They were blue, Nathaniel! They were lifeless! I tried to resuscitate them, I swear to God I tried!”
Nathaniel ignored his fiancée completely. His cold, observant eyes never left the terrified midwife.
“Why did you sign the death certificates, Agnes?”
The elderly woman sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “She threatened my grandchildren. Giselle told me she had men outside my daughter’s apartment. She handed me a briefcase full of cash and told me if I ever spoke of the cries I heard, my entire family would be buried in the foundations of this city. She took the babies while they were still wrapped in their hospital blankets and walked out the back door.”
Giselle lunged forward, her face twisted in an ugly mask of rage. “You senile old bat! I will kill you for this! I will—”
Nathaniel slammed the crystal glass onto his desk with a terrifying crack. The glass shattered, amber liquid and shards spraying across the polished wood, but Nathaniel did not even flinch. The room fell into a deathly, paralyzing silence once more.
May you like
Nathaniel wiped a drop of scotch from his tattooed knuckle. His voice dropped to a near whisper, carrying a deadly, freezing current that made the hairs on Elise’s neck stand up. He slowly turned his high-bridged nose toward Giselle.
“Did you think I would permit you to threaten a witness in my presence?”
