Chapter 3
Before Aldous could anticipate the bizarre, childish escalation, Fintan lunged toward the service doorway. He reached out and violently grabbed the heavy, wooden-handled mop from the cleaning trolley. The mop head was still damp with dirty, soapy water from a recent spill near the kitchens.
"What are you doing, Mr. Faircroft?" a nearby donor gasped, backing away from the sudden aggression.
"Showing the boss his true colors!" Fintan shouted.
With a sudden, vicious thrust, Fintan drove the damp mop directly into Aldous’s chest. The wet, grimy strings of the mop head smeared violently across the pristine fabric of Aldous’s tailored tuxedo jacket and crisp white shirt. The foul water soaked into the expensive wool instantly.
Fintan didn't stop there. He aggressively forced the wooden handle forward, shoving it directly into Aldous’s hands, attempting to make the mafia boss hold the cleaning tool in front of the fifty watching guests.
"A cleaner’s son should know his place," Fintan smirked, his voice echoing over the sudden silence of the ballroom.
Aldous stood perfectly still. The dirty water dripped from his lapel onto his polished leather shoes. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the wooden handle, stopping the momentum of the thrust. The sheer, overwhelming rage simmering in his dark eyes was terrifying, but he maintained absolute, unnatural restraint.
"Is this your grand rebellion, Fintan?" Aldous asked quietly, his voice a lethal whisper. "A wet mop?"
From the edge of the crowd, Carys broke through the line of stunned guests. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. Seeing the man she deeply cared for being humiliated in front of the entire syndicate ignited a fierce, protective fire in her chest.
Carys immediately rushed forward, her flat shoes making no sound against the marble. She reached out without hesitation, taking the wooden handle of the mop from Aldous’s hands and resting it quickly against the side of the trolley.
Her expressive eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at his ruined tuxedo. Her lower lip trembled visibly, the vulnerability and deep affection she felt for him impossible to hide under the bright, cinematic lights.
"Sir..." Carys said softly, her voice shaking with profound worry as she reached into her apron pocket for a clean cloth. "Let me fix this. Please."
Aldous turned toward her. The freezing, murderous aura that had surrounded him a second before vanished instantly. He looked down at her delicate, beautiful face, his expression softening into one of quiet gratitude.
"You don't need to do that, Carys," Aldous murmured, completely ignoring the surrounding crowd to focus solely on her.
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"But your suit is ruined," she whispered, her hands hovering over his stained lapel.
"How touching," Fintan laughed cruelly, stepping forward again. "The little maid comes to rescue her filthy prince. It’s a perfect match."
