Chapter 2
The heavy silk curtains framing the tall windows seemed to absorb the quiet tension that radiated from Mila as she approached the head table. Her footsteps were virtually silent on the thick Persian rug, yet every step felt deafening in her own ears. The soft reflected light clearly illuminated the entire room and every face, offering no place for secrets to hide.
Georgina caught sight of the housemaid approaching. The socialite's warm, composed smile did not falter for the guests, but her eyes hardened into sharp, warning daggers as they locked onto Mila. It was a silent command: Serve the food, keep your head down, and remain a ghost.
Mila kept her gaze lowered, her expressive brows pulled together in a tight line of anxiety. She reached Rowan’s right side, the scent of the warm blackberry pie rising into the air—a mix of dark berries, browned butter, and a very specific, secret hint of cinnamon and lemon zest. It was a scent that had not graced this mansion in over twenty-six years.
"Here is the final course, sir," Mila murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
She carefully placed the gold-rimmed dessert plate before Rowan. The slice of pie sat perfectly in the center, a deep, rich purple against the porcelain. Mila took a half-step back, clutching the silver serving tray against her neatly tied white apron, her knuckles turning white.
Rowan did not immediately look at her. His cold, observant eyes were fixed on the dessert. The heavy family signet ring on his tattooed hand gleamed as he picked up his polished silver fork. He cut a small piece of the pie and raised it to his mouth.
The moment the pastry touched his tongue, time in the grand dining hall seemed to stop.
Rowan’s chewing slowed. The fork paused in mid-air, suspended between the plate and his mouth. A profound, shocking recognition rippled across his angular features. The coldness in his eyes instantly melted, softening into a look of overwhelming, agonizing familiarity. The flavor was a ghost, a phantom from a lifetime ago when he was just a young man deeply in love with a woman named Evelyn. It was impossible.
He lowered his fork carefully back onto the table. The metallic clink was remarkably loud.
Mila watched his reaction, her heart soaring and breaking all at once. Her fingers tightened painfully around the edges of the serving plate. She saw the exact moment the realization hit him.
Rowan slowly turned his head. His thick, wavy hair shifted slightly as he looked directly into Mila’s eyes.
"Mila. Who taught you this?" Rowan asked.
His voice was deep, quiet, and deliberate. There was a controlled, heavily weighted pause after her name. It was not a casual inquiry; it was an absolute command masked as a question.
May you like
The shift in the mafia boss's demeanor was so sudden and intense that it sent a shockwave through the room. Every single guest at the nearby tables stopped eating. The lively conversations died in their throats. Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward the head of the table.
Georgina’s fingers, which had been delicately holding her crystal wine glass, became instantly, terrifyingly still. The golden light caught the sudden pallor of her fair skin as she stared at the housemaid she had tried so desperately to bury in plain sight.
