Her eyes locking onto the small gold memorial locket held open at chest level in Sabine Whitlock's fingers

The ambient glow of the ivory candles flickered against the polished silverware, offering a soft elegance that starkly contrasted with the viciousness of Sabine’s actions. Naomi’s breathing was shallow and uneven, her delicate features pale with shock. The loss of her young son had shattered her world several months earlier, and the small gold locket had been the only tangible piece of him she had left.

Damon extended his free hand toward Sabine, the artistic tattoos on his fingers stark against the clean white tablecloth.

“Will you hand the locket to me, or must I pry it from your neck myself?” Damon asked, his deep voice leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

Sabine gasped, clutching the gold jewelry against her chest. Her fair skin flushed a deep, angry red. “You wouldn’t dare. My father is Marcus Whitlock! We are an alliance, Damon! You cannot treat me like one of your street thugs!”

“Do you believe your father’s name serves as a shield against my wrath inside my own mansion?” Damon asked, taking a slow, deliberate step around the carved walnut chair.

Realizing the absolute danger radiating from his angular face and sharply defined jaw, Sabine’s bravado shattered. Her hands trembling, she unclasped the small gold locket from her neck. She threw it onto the marble floor with a spiteful glare.

“Take the stupid thing!” Sabine spat. “It’s empty anyway!”

Damon did not look at Sabine. He bent down with measured grace, the fabric of his tailored dark three-piece suit shifting smoothly. He retrieved the locket from the cream marble, wiping it gently with a pristine white napkin. He turned back to Naomi, holding the gold chain out to her.

“Will you allow me to place this back where it belongs, Naomi?” Damon asked softly, his tone transforming from lethal ice to profound, quiet warmth.

Naomi looked up, her expressive eyes swimming with tears. She nodded silently. She turned her back slightly, allowing Damon to step close. His broad chest hovered just inches from her, the warmth of his body seeping through the sophisticated black fabric of her maid dress. With surprising gentleness, his heavily tattooed fingers draped the chain around her neck, securing the clasp.

“She came into my quarters this afternoon,” Naomi whispered, her voice shaking as she looked back at Damon. “She told me I didn’t deserve gold. She took it while I was pressing your shirts.”

Damon’s jaw tightened visibly. He looked over Naomi’s shoulder, his gaze locking back onto Sabine, who was watching the intimate exchange with sheer, unadulterated jealousy.

“Did you honestly think I would not discover your theft, Sabine?” Damon asked.