Chapter 2
The sudden, absolute stillness from the head of the table was a physical weight in the dining room. Cassian Wolfe didn't move. He didn't speak. He simply stared at the small medical dressing partially hidden by the housemaid's dark hair. The deep, low register of his voice was something he only used when a situation demanded his lethal attention, and he spoke exclusively in questions—a terrifying habit that forced others to provide answers while he revealed absolutely nothing.
Estelle noticed the shift in his focus immediately. Her polished smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, maintaining her elegant composure.
"She tripped," Estelle said smoothly, leaning slightly over her gold-rimmed porcelain plate to meet Cassian’s eyes. "Always rushing."
She gave a small, dismissive laugh that sounded like crystal shattering on marble. Her lips maintained a pleasant, indulgent smile, but her eyes were frantic, checking his angular face entirely too closely for his reaction.
After delivering the lie, Estelle turned her head slightly. She directed a brief, venomous warning glance toward Ada—a silent promise of severe retribution if the maid dared to contradict her.
Earlier that afternoon, Estelle had explicitly forbidden the staff from entering the west wing. When Ada, hearing frantic, muffled crying behind a locked door, had tried to investigate, Estelle had intercepted her violently. The resulting struggle had left Ada with a bleeding cut behind her ear, and Estelle had commanded her to continue serving the engagement dinner as if nothing had happened.
Cassian didn't respond to his fiancée's laughter. He followed the sharp glance Estelle shot at the maid, reading the silent threat perfectly. He slowly turned his head, looking directly into Ada’s fearful eyes.
"Ada," Cassian murmured. His voice was deep, quiet, and incredibly deliberate, vibrating through the room. "What really happened?"
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The effect was instantaneous. Every single guest at the sprawling table stopped eating. Conversations died mid-sentence. Forks were lowered slowly to the damask linens. Fifty pairs of eyes turned silently toward the head of the table, recognizing the catastrophic shift in the atmosphere. A direct question from Cassian Wolfe during a formal dinner was an absolute law.
Cassian waited without looking away, his perceptive eyes boring into the young woman.
