Chapter 1
The clinking of crystal champagne flutes echoed beneath the sprawling, luxurious chandelier. The light it cast was a gentle, brilliant warmth, completely free of any heavy yellow cast, illuminating the vivid, saturated colors of the lavish engagement dinner. At the head of the long mahogany table sat Xavier Holloway. Broad-shouldered, undeniably masculine, and strikingly handsome, he wore a tailored dark three-piece suit that contoured perfectly to his athletic, powerful physique. His thick, slightly wavy black hair was slicked back, though a few rogue strands fell over his forehead, softening the sharp, angular lines of his face. He possessed a high-bridged nose, a sharply defined jawline shadowed by impeccably neat stubble, and eyes that were terrifyingly cold and sharp.
Beside his chair stood his fiancée, Vivian Prescott. Her fair, rosy skin glowed against the deep, rich silk of her evening gown, the heavy diamonds of her engagement ring and matching necklace catching the ambient light. She was smiling, playing the perfect hostess to the room full of dangerous men and their wives.
From the arched doorway, Amara Brooks approached. She wore a sophisticated black maid dress with a cinched waist and a slim-fitted silhouette that flared into a short A-line skirt. The pristine white apron tied neatly at her waist, along with the crisp white collar and cuffs, highlighted her elegant, feminine proportions. It was a polished, upscale uniform, subtly seductive without being the least bit revealing. In her hands, she carried a delicate porcelain dessert plate.
She stopped beside the small chair where two-year-old Elijah Holloway sat. The boy, dressed impeccably in a miniature dress shirt, vest, and trousers, looked exhausted. Amara leaned down, placing the dessert plate gently before him.
"Here you go, little one," Amara whispered softly, her warm brown eyes filled with an undeniable tenderness.
Instead of reaching for the sweet pastry, Elijah’s tiny hands shot out. He caught the crisp white cuff of her sleeve, pulling her closer. He raised both of his arms toward her, his dark eyes wide and pleading. Amara didn’t hesitate. She bent at the knees and gently lifted the boy. The moment his feet left the floor, Elijah immediately buried his face against her neck, his small arms clinging to her as if his life depended on it.
Vivian’s smile vanished instantly. She took a sharp step toward Amara, her heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor. She fixed the young maid with a furious, unblinking stare.
"He is not yours," Vivian hissed, her voice sharp and dripping with a possessive venom that cut through the low hum of the dining room. "Put him down. Right now."
Amara stiffened, meeting the woman’s eyes. She looked wounded, visibly frightened by the harshness of the command, yet she didn’t drop her arms. Sensing the hostility, Elijah tightened his embrace, whimpering softly as he hid his face deeper against Amara’s shoulder.
Before Vivian could take another step, a shadow fell over them. Xavier rose from his chair, his towering frame effortlessly placing itself between Vivian and Amara. He didn't look at his fiancée. Instead, he met Amara’s frightened eyes. The intricate tattoos on his neck shifted slightly as he tilted his head.
"Amara," Xavier said. His voice was incredibly deep, a slow, controlled rumble that immediately commanded the room. "Keep holding him."
Instantly, every single guest at the long table stopped talking. Forks were lowered. Glasses were set down. The heavy silence of the criminal underworld descended upon the room. Amara’s tense shoulders eased just a fraction under his protection.
Elijah slowly lifted his head from Amara's shoulder and looked directly into his father’s cold, sharp eyes. The boy's lower lip began to shake violently.
"Daddy," Elijah whispered, his tiny voice trembling in the dead quiet of the room. "Don’t let her lock us in."
Xavier’s expression froze. It was a terrifying stillness. Vivian drew in a sharp, panicked breath, taking a sudden step backward. Amara closed her eyes for a brief, deeply pained moment, her arms tightening protectively around the boy.
Amara opened her eyes again, meeting Xavier’s intense, unyielding gaze. Holding Elijah securely, she spoke, her voice trembling but resolute. "I couldn’t leave him alone in the dark."
May you like
Xavier’s gaze dropped to his son’s tiny fingers, which were knotted desperately into the fabric of Amara’s white apron. The muscle in Xavier’s jaw tightened, twitching once. He slowly raised his eyes back to Amara's face.
"Amara," Xavier said, his volume remaining low, every word measured, cold, and unspeakably dangerous. "How many nights?"
