Chapter 6
Georgina gasped, her fair skin turning entirely translucent. Her diamond earrings shook violently as she lunged forward, desperately reaching out toward Rowan, though she stopped just short of touching his tailored suit.
"You can't do this!" Georgina screamed, her composure completely shattered. "You are breaking the engagement? I am a Sloane! You cannot just throw me out like trash!"
"Do you believe the title of fiancée grants you immunity from my judgment?" Rowan asked, lowering the phone from his ear.
"My father will kill you for this!" Georgina wept, a venomous, hysterical edge returning to her voice. "He will consider this an act of war! He will burn this mansion to the ground!"
"Has any man who declared war on me lived long enough to see the ashes?" Rowan asked smoothly, his cold, perceptive eyes completely devoid of warmth.
The heavy walnut doors of the dining room swung open. Two massive security guards in dark suits entered, their expressions entirely blank. They flanked Georgina, waiting for the order.
"Will you ensure she takes nothing from this house that she did not bring into it?" Rowan asked his men.
Georgina stared at him in absolute horror. Trembling violently, completely stripped of her power and her future, she ripped the heavy diamond engagement ring from her finger. She threw it fiercely onto the white damask table. It struck a crystal wine glass with a sharp crack, spinning out of control before coming to rest near a flickering ivory candle.
"You will regret this, Rowan!" Georgina spat, her rosy skin mottled with red, furious blotches. "Both of you will burn for this!"
"Will you escort her out?" Rowan asked the guards.
Georgina didn't fight them. She turned on her heel and marched toward the doors, the guards following closely behind. Her sculpted satin gown dragged heavily against the polished marble floor, a ruined symbol of her failed ambition.
Once the doors clicked shut, a profound, ringing silence settled over the bright, airy room. Rowan stood alone near the head table for a long moment, his powerful shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The alliance was dead. The war was inevitable. But the rot inside his house had been excised.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly, and walked toward Mila.
The twenty-six-year-old stood frozen by the table, her hands clutching the edges of her white apron. She had just witnessed the destruction of a multi-million-dollar syndicate merger, and she was the epicenter of the fallout.
"Are you afraid of me, Mila?" Rowan asked, stopping a few feet away from her.
"I am not afraid of you, sir," Mila answered, her voice a soft, tremulous whisper. "But I am terrified of what I have caused. You shouldn't have broken your engagement for me. Her family is going to seek revenge. I didn't mean to ruin your life."
"Is discovering my daughter a ruin, or a resurrection?" Rowan asked, his deep voice softening into a rare, gentle cadence.
He reached out with his tattooed hand. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before gently wiping a tear from her delicate cheekbone with his thumb. The touch was incredibly warm, anchoring her in the surreal, luminous atmosphere of the dining room.
"Do you possess the letter she wrote to me?" Rowan asked quietly.
May you like
"Yes," Mila nodded, leaning slightly into his comforting touch. "It's in my room. In the staff quarters."
"Will you show it to me?" Rowan asked.
