Chapter 4
The crackling of the carved marble fireplace seemed deafening in the profound, suffocating silence of the dining hall. Felicity’s face, previously flushed with wine and the triumph of the evening, drained of all color until her fair, rosy skin turned the shade of ash. Her diamond earrings trembled slightly as a subtle, uncontrollable shake took over her body.
Tristan did not break eye contact with her. He slowly raised his tattooed hand, resting his knuckles on the polished walnut table. The silence stretched until it became agonizing, the elite guests holding their collective breath.
"Will all of you leave my dining room immediately?" Tristan asked, his deep, low voice echoing across the long table. He didn't look at the guests; his cold eyes remained entirely fixed on his fiancée.
The question was a direct command. Instantly, the scraping of velvet dining chairs against the hardwood floor sounded like thunder. Dozens of capos, crime bosses, and politicians scrambled to their feet, abandoning their fine porcelain plates and crystal stemware. They moved with a hurried, terrified silence, practically sprinting toward the heavy silk curtains and the grand double doors of the dining room. No one offered their goodbyes or dared to look back.
Within two minutes, the massive, luxurious room was entirely empty, save for the four of them: Tristan, Felicity, Elsa, and the trembling Ruth. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, echoing with a hollow, terrifying finality.
"Tristan, darling, please," Felicity whispered, her voice cracking as the reality of her isolation set in. She reached out across the table, her engagement ring flashing in the candlelight. "She is lying! The woman is completely senile! You know the complications your wife had! You know she barely survived long enough to deliver your son!"
Tristan slowly lowered his hand from the table. He tightened his protective stance, ensuring Elsa and Ruth were completely shielded behind his broad shoulders.
"Do you believe a fragile, terrified mind could invent such a specific, monstrous treason?" Tristan asked. His slow, controlled pauses carried the weight of an executioner's blade.
"The maid is manipulating her!" Felicity stammered, pulling her hand back as if the table had burned her. "Elsa probably found her and paid her to say that! She hates me! She’s been trying to ruin this engagement since the day I moved in! She wants your wealth, Tristan!"
Elsa stood her ground, though her knees felt weak. She kept her hands gently resting on Ruth's frail shoulders, refusing to defend herself against the hysterical accusations. The truth was already sitting in the velvet chair; it didn't need her protection.
"Do you expect me to believe a housemaid possesses the resources to orchestrate a conspiracy of this magnitude?" Tristan asked, stepping slowly around the edge of the table, his broad shoulders dominating the space. "Is burying a stolen child the only way you could secure a velvet chair?"
"It wasn't like that!" Felicity shrieked, losing her polished manners entirely. "Your wife was bleeding out! It was chaos! I was trying to save her!"
"Did you save my wife, Felicity, or did you ensure she bled while you stole my flesh and blood?" Tristan asked, taking another slow, deliberate step toward her.
"You needed a mother for your son!" Felicity sobbed, real tears of panic finally spilling over her cheeks as she backed away, her emerald gown catching on a velvet chair. "I was there! I stayed by your side! I raised him while you built this empire!"
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"Did you steal my daughter to guarantee your place in my bed?" Tristan inquired, tilting his head slightly, the cold, perceptive eyes narrowing into dark, lethal slits.
He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his gaze. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit, his refined hand tattoos catching the golden light.
