Chapter 5
The threat hung in the luminous, warm air of the dining room. Evelyn stared up into Cyrus’s cold, perceptive eyes and realized there was no bluff. Cyrus Langford did not make idle threats. Trembling violently, her rosy skin entirely devoid of color, she slid the heavy diamond engagement ring off her finger.
She threw it violently onto the long dining table. It struck a crystal wine glass with a sharp crack, spinning out of control before coming to rest near a flickering ivory candle.
"My father will kill you for this," Evelyn whispered, her voice dripping with pure, unadulterated hatred. "He will burn this mansion to the ground."
"Has any man who declared war on me lived long enough to regret it?" Cyrus asked smoothly.
The heavy walnut doors of the dining room swung open. Two massive security guards in dark suits entered, their expressions entirely blank. They flanked Evelyn, waiting for the order.
"Will you ensure she takes nothing from this house that she did not bring into it?" Cyrus asked his men.
Evelyn didn't fight them. She threw one last, hateful glare at Mina and Finn before turning on her heel. She marched out of the room, the guards following closely behind, her elegant emerald gown dragging heavily against the polished marble floor.
Once the doors clicked shut, a profound, ringing silence settled over the bright, airy room. Cyrus stood alone near the head table for a long moment, his broad, powerful shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The alliance was dead. The war was inevitable.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly, and walked back toward the serving console.
Mina remained frozen, her delicate cheekbones pale, her eyes wide with overwhelming fear. She had just witnessed the destruction of a multi-million-dollar syndicate merger, and she was the epicenter of the fallout. Atlas sat loyally by her side, thumping his tail softly against the floor as Cyrus approached.
"Are you afraid of me, Mina?" Cyrus asked, stopping a few feet away from her.
"I am not afraid of you, Mr. Langford," Mina answered, her voice a soft, tremulous whisper. "But I am terrified of what I have caused. I didn't mean to ruin your evening. I should have just kept quiet."
"Is suffering in silence a virtue I demand of my staff?" Cyrus asked, his deep voice softening into a rare, gentle cadence.
He looked down at Finn. The seven-year-old was still clutching Mina’s white apron, looking up at his father with wide, anxious eyes.
"Are you unharmed, Finn?" Cyrus asked, crouching down so his angular face was level with his son's.
"I'm okay, Papa," Finn said, his rosy cheeks stained with faint tear tracks. "Is Evelyn coming back?"
"Would I ever allow someone who hurts our family back into this house?" Cyrus asked, offering his son a small, reassuring smile that completely transformed his intimidating features.
Finn shook his head earnestly, finally releasing Mina’s apron. He stepped forward, throwing his small arms around Cyrus’s thick neck. Cyrus lifted the boy effortlessly, standing to his full height and settling Finn securely against his powerful shoulder.
Cyrus turned his attention back to the housemaid. "May I see your arm, Mina?"
Mina hesitated, her expressive brows drawing together. She felt entirely exposed under his intense scrutiny. Slowly, she rolled up the stiff black fabric of her sleeve, revealing the medical dressing.
"Will you allow me to remove the bandage?" Cyrus asked, reaching out with his tattooed hand.
"It isn't a pretty sight, sir," Mina warned softly.
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"Have I not seen worse in my lifetime?" Cyrus asked, his long fingers gently gripping her wrist. His touch was warm, firm, and surprisingly tender as he carefully peeled back the white tape, revealing a deep, ugly laceration and dark, severe bruising on her fair skin.
"How long has she been treating you this way?" Cyrus asked, his jawline clenching visibly.
