Chapter 5
The silence that followed Sabrina's lie was brief but suffocating. The dozens of ivory candles flickering in their gilded candelabras seemed to be the only things moving in the entire, luminous space. Elora remained on her knees, her chest heaving rapidly beneath the fitted black fabric of her creased dress.
She slowly lifted her head. She bypassed the terrifying woman in the emerald gown entirely. Elora looked directly at Ronan.
The mafia boss was looking at the silicone bump, his dark, observant eyes calculating the impossibility of the object. When he felt Elora's gaze upon him, he shifted his attention to the housemaid. He took in her rumpled apron, her disheveled hair, and the deep, puffy shadows beneath her eyes. He realized instantly that the gentle maid had not just been crying; she had been terrorized.
Elora met Ronan’s cold, unwavering gaze. She took a shallow, shuddering breath. Her voice was incredibly quiet, carrying a slight tremor that betrayed her exhaustion and terror, yet it was devastatingly clear.
"Sabrina wears it beneath the gown," Elora stated.
The words hit the room with the devastating force of a physical blow. The absolute, unvarnished truth spoken from the mouth of a broken servant was a catastrophic verdict.
A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the elite guests standing near the worktable. The music playing in the background seemed to fade into nothingness. The sheer, audacious malice of faking a pregnancy to secure a mafia marriage was shocking even to seasoned syndicate members.
Ronan Vale stopped breathing. His entire body went rigid beneath his tailored dark suit. He slowly turned his head, his naturally swept-back hair catching the light. He looked down at the prosthetic bump in his daughter's hands, the straps dangling uselessly against the teddy bear. The realization of the absolute, humiliating deception cemented itself in his mind.
He slowly raised his gaze. He looked from the prosthetic bump directly to Sabrina.
The transition was terrifying. The calm, composed host was instantly replaced by the ruthless, cold-blooded king of the syndicate. A dark, absolute void of lethal intent flooded his gaze.
Every single guest in the drawing room stopped speaking. The polite, affluent conversation died entirely in their throats, replaced by a terrifying, breathless vacuum. Fifty faces turned toward Ronan, their fair skin paling as they watched the mafia boss.
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He held Sabrina’s gaze, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"Sabrina," Ronan said, his deep, controlled voice echoing loudly in the dead-silent room. "Was there a baby?"
