Chapter 8
Nessa looked up from the storybook, her expressive brows lifting in surprise. She immediately stood up, smoothing the front of her black maid dress, her graceful posture snapping to attention.
"He is doing much better, Mr. Whitestone," Nessa answered softly, her American accent melodic in the quiet room. "He has had a warm bath and a cup of tea."
Callum stepped fully into the room, his polished shoes silent on the thick carpet. He walked over to the bed, looking down at his son. Ellis watched him with wide, cautious eyes, still processing the chaotic explosion of the evening.
"Are you comfortable, Ellis?" Callum asked, sitting on the edge of the bed where Nessa had just been.
"Yes, Daddy," Ellis nodded, his small hands gripping the edge of his duvet. "Is Juliette gone?"
"Do you think I would ever allow someone who hurts you to stay in our home?" Callum asked, reaching out to gently brush a loose strand of hair from his son's forehead.
Ellis sniffled, a small, fragile smile finally breaking through his distress. "No."
"Are you a brave boy?" Callum asked, his tattooed fingers resting lightly on the boy's shoulder.
"Yes, Daddy," Ellis said, leaning into his father's touch.
"Will you try to get some sleep now?" Callum asked. "Will you let Nessa finish her story?"
"Okay," Ellis agreed, settling back into his pillows.
Callum stood up, turning his perceptive gaze toward the housemaid. Nessa was watching him, her delicate cheekbones flushed with a natural, rosy color. She had risked her job and her safety by standing up for the boy, showing a loyalty that was incredibly rare in his world.
"Will you join me in my study when he falls asleep, Nessa?" Callum asked, his voice dropping into a register meant only for her.
"Yes, sir," Nessa replied, her heart fluttering rapidly against her ribs.
Callum gave her a slow, knowing nod and exited the room.
An hour later, the mansion was eerily quiet. The engagement dinner was a distant memory, replaced by the heavy, lethal preparation for war. Heavily armed security operatives in dark suits patrolled the ivory-paneled corridors.
Nessa walked down the hall, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She reached the heavy oak doors of Callum's private study and knocked softly.
"Enter," Callum's deep voice commanded from within.
Nessa pushed the door open. The study was a sanctuary of deep leather, rich mahogany, and walls lined with books. It felt isolated from the rest of the vast estate. Callum was standing behind his massive carved walnut desk, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal glass. He had discarded his suit jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, looking slightly less formal but infinitely more dangerous. The loose strands of dark hair fell over his forehead, and his powerful shoulders leaned casually against the edge of the desk.
"Would you care for a drink to calm your nerves, Nessa?" Callum asked, holding the glass out to her.
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"I shouldn't, sir. I am still on duty," Nessa answered, stepping hesitantly into the warm, golden light of the room.
"Do you believe you are still merely a housemaid in my eyes?" Callum asked, taking a slow sip of the whiskey himself, his cold eyes never leaving her face.
