Chapter 5
The study felt as though the oxygen was being slowly siphoned from the air. Saskia Vale stood rigid, the sculpted satin of her evening gown catching the bright, clear light as she visibly scrambled for a new defense. The elegant warmth of the room contrasted sharply with the chilling reality of what she had done.
Ellis, emboldened by his mother’s presence and the mafia boss’s protective questioning, stepped out from behind Flora’s black A-line skirt. He pointed a small, accusatory finger directly at Saskia.
“She didn't find me at a fire station,” Ellis said, his voice remarkably steady for a seven-year-old in a room full of terrifying adults. “I was at the picnic. I was looking for frogs by the water. She came up to me and said Mommy was in the big black car and that I needed to go with her. But Mommy wasn't in the car. It was just a driver.”
Flora gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as fresh tears spilled over her cheeks. The nightmare of the last six months—the agonizing grief, the empty funeral, the sleepless nights—had all been engineered by the smiling woman standing mere feet away.
Dorian Ashcombe’s expression did not change, but the atmosphere around him grew measurably darker. “Did you find it amusing to watch a mother weep over an empty casket that you paid for, Saskia?”
“It was a necessary sacrifice!” Saskia shrieked, finally breaking. The facade of the elegant, loving fiancée shattered completely. Her fair, rosy skin turned a blotchy, furious red. “Look at her, Dorian! She is a maid! She scrubs floors for minimum wage! What kind of life could she possibly give a boy with this much potential? I rescued him!”
Flora jumped to her feet, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her white cuffs stark against the dark fabric of her uniform. “You stole him! You kept him locked away while you forged documents! You told him I sold him so he would stop crying for me!”
Saskia sneered, throwing her hands up in the air. “And look at him now! He wears tailored clothes! He eats off fine porcelain! He is the heir to the most powerful syndicate in the state! I took him from the gutter and made him a prince. You should be thanking me on your knees!”
Dorian rose from his leather chair. His massive, tailored frame commanded the room effortlessly. The polished leather of his shoes made no sound against the Persian rug as he walked slowly around the desk.
“Are you suggesting that kidnapping and psychological torture are acceptable methods of philanthropy?” Dorian asked, stopping just two feet away from Saskia.
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“I did it for you!” she cried, looking up into his cold, observant eyes, desperately searching for any shred of the man who had proposed to her. “You said you wanted a family without the complications of the past! I gave you exactly what you asked for! I curated the perfect child for your empire!”
“Did you honestly believe a child stolen from my own household staff would not eventually be recognized within these walls?” Dorian asked, his deep voice a lethal, vibrating hum. “Or were you simply arrogant enough to think I would not notice the deception?”
