Hester to uproot a blossoming plant from the memorial garden his late mother had grown

The garden, previously crowded and loud, was now eerily quiet. The natural, cinematic lighting continued to cast soft, golden highlights over the manicured lawn, a beautiful backdrop to the devastation of the afternoon. The fifty guests began to nervously murmur, eager to distance themselves from the violence and the sudden, brutal restructuring of the family hierarchy.

Malcolm turned his back on the retreating figure of his aunt. He looked down at the woman standing steadfastly beside him.

Freya’s black maid dress was spotless, save for a small smudge of dirt near the hem, but her expressive eyes were wide with residual adrenaline. She finally released his wrist, her hands dropping back to the sides of her white apron.

"Are you unharmed, Freya?" Malcolm asked, his deep voice softening significantly, intended only for her ears.

"I'm fine, sir," Freya breathed, looking up into his handsome face. "Does your wrist hurt?"

"I am entirely uninjured, thanks to you," Malcolm replied, his tattooed fingers gently brushing a speck of soil from the lace of her maid headband. "Why did you put yourself in danger? She could have ordered them to shoot you."

"I couldn't watch her do that to you," Freya said simply, her voice steady and unwavering. "Not to your mother's garden. Not to you."

Malcolm stared at her, the depth of her quiet loyalty staggering him. She had assaulted a high-ranking family member in front of the entire syndicate to protect his dignity and a patch of earth.

"You realize that by striking her, you have made yourself a target for anyone loyal to her faction?" Malcolm asked, his thumb lightly tracing the line of her delicate cheekbone.

"I don't care," Freya whispered, leaning slightly into his touch. "I did what was right."

"Do you believe I will allow anyone to lay a hand on you while I draw breath?" Malcolm asked, the question serving as an absolute, unbreakable vow.

"No," Freya smiled, a soft, beautiful expression that lit up her rosy face. "I know you won't."

Before the quiet intimacy of the moment could settle, Marcus returned, his face grim and pale. He didn't look like a man who had just successfully evicted an exiled aunt.

"Is she gone, Marcus?" Malcolm asked, stepping slightly in front of Freya, sensing the shift in his lieutenant's demeanor.

"She's outside the gates, Boss," Marcus said quickly. "But there is a problem. A major problem."

"Are you going to explain, or must I guess?" Malcolm demanded, his voice hardening.

"When we escorted her out, we noticed the perimeter," Marcus swallowed hard. "The security cameras on the east wall are dead. And two of the outer guards are missing from their posts. Someone hit the perimeter while we were distracted by the fight."

Malcolm’s jaw tightened. The timing was too perfect. Hester’s theatrical assault hadn't just been a power play; it had been a loud, flashy distraction designed to draw every eye in the garden away from the edges of the estate.

"Lock down the house," Malcolm ordered instantly. "Get the guests inside the main hall and secure the doors. Nobody leaves."