Chapter 8
The guard swallowed hard, intimidated by the terrifying calm radiating from his boss. “They’re not asking for negotiations, sir. They breached the outer perimeter with explosive charges. They’re moving on the main house. They have numbers, and they have heavy artillery. They think you killed her.”
Panic erupted among the gala guests. Women screamed, and men shouted, surging toward the exits in a desperate bid to escape the impending war zone. The bright, cinematic lighting of the ballroom suddenly felt like a spotlight illuminating a slaughterhouse.
“Silence!” Emrys roared, his deep voice echoing like a thunderclap, instantly stopping the frantic crowd in their tracks. He turned to his loyal enforcers, who were already drawing their weapons and checking their magazines.
“Escort the guests to the secure underground bunker beneath the west wing immediately,” Emrys commanded, his authority absolute. “Ensure no one is left behind. And seal the blast doors.”
The enforcers moved swiftly, herding the terrified elite out of the ballroom and down the service corridors. Within minutes, the vast, opulent room was entirely empty of civilians. The broken glass and ruined floral displays were the only remaining signs of the celebration.
Emrys finally released Coralie’s hand, though the lingering warmth of his touch remained. He looked down at her, his expression grim and fiercely protective.
“Will you follow the guests to the bunker and remain there until I come for you, Coralie?” Emrys asked, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Coralie shook her head, taking a defiant step closer to him. “No. I won't hide in the dark while you fight. Let me help. I know this house better than anyone. I know the blind spots, the service exits.”
“Do you honestly believe I could focus on slaughtering my enemies if I knew you were wandering the halls in the line of fire?” Emrys asked, his dark eyes intense and pleading.
“If they breach the house, the bunker will become a tomb,” Coralie argued softly, her expressive eyes filled with desperation. “Let me stay near you. Please, Emrys.”
It was the first time she had ever used his first name. The sound of it on her lips sent a jolt of electricity through him, stronger than the pain in his bruised hand. He looked at her delicate, beautiful face, realizing that the gentle housemaid possessed a spirit as formidable as any soldier in his syndicate.
A loud, concussive boom echoed from the front of the estate, shaking the very foundations of the ballroom. The crystal chandeliers rattled violently overhead. The invasion had reached the main doors.
Emrys grabbed a heavy, suppressed pistol from the waistband of a fallen bodyguard. He checked the chamber with a sharp, metallic click.
“Will you promise me you won't hesitate to run if the line breaks?” Emrys asked, turning his fierce gaze back to her.
“I promise,” Coralie whispered.
“Then stay behind me, and stay low,” Emrys commanded, moving toward the grand foyer.
They rushed out of the ballroom just as the massive front doors of the estate splintered inward under heavy automatic weapons fire. The grand foyer, with its sweeping marble staircase and priceless art, was instantly transformed into a chaotic war zone.
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Emrys shoved Coralie behind a thick marble pillar. He stepped out into the open, raising his weapon with cold, calculated precision.
“Did you truly believe you could take my home without an invitation?” Emrys shouted into the smoke-filled doorway, pulling the trigger.
