Chapter 3
The clatter of crystal glasses and the low hum of affluent conversations provided a rhythmic backdrop to the Christmas Eve festivities. Phoebe stepped into the bright, airy light of the grand salon, her breath catching in her throat. The golden reflections offered absolutely no place to hide her disheveled appearance. She kept her head down, navigating the carved walnut furniture and burgundy velvet sofas with agonizing care, desperate to retrieve her son before they were noticed by the mafia elite.
Samuel stood near the edge of the room, his cream Christmas sweater glowing warmly under the crystal chandeliers. He was staring in awe at the towering Christmas tree, completely oblivious to the dangerous syndicate capos surrounding him.
Phoebe reached out, her trembling fingers brushing the sleeve of Samuel's sweater. "Samuel, please, we have to go," she whispered urgently.
Before she could pull him back into the shadows of the service corridor, a swift, deliberate movement intercepted her.
Evelyn Cross separated herself from Gabriel’s side. The emerald satin of her gown shimmered like a serpent's scales under the golden light. She moved with ruthless, calculated precision, stepping directly into Phoebe’s path and physically blocking the maid’s exit.
Phoebe froze, her expressive eyes widening in sheer panic.
Evelyn looked down at the housemaid, her polished public smile remaining fixed on her face for the benefit of the guests. But her eyes were completely devoid of warmth. As Evelyn’s gaze shifted downward, it landed on the six-year-old boy in the cream sweater.
Evelyn’s breath hitched microscopically. Her eyes widened, a sharp, venomous glint of pure panic flashing across her fair features. She glanced sharply between Samuel, standing beside the maid, and Isaac, who was standing quietly across the room in his navy velvet jacket.
The resemblance was not just striking; it was genetically flawless. They possessed identical faces, identical fair, rosy skin, and perfectly matching hairstyles.
Evelyn’s manicured fingers tightened violently against the fabric of her satin gown. She had to remove the boy from the room instantly, before the mafia boss noticed the impossible mirroring. She forced the muscles in her face to obey, fixing a tight, dangerous smile directly on Phoebe.
"Staff children stay in the kitchen," Evelyn commanded, her voice dropping into a quiet, chilling register meant only for the terrified maid.
The sheer malice in the socialite's voice hit the air like a physical blow. Phoebe pulled Samuel closer to her rumpled apron, her heart hammering wildly.
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"I am so sorry, Miss Cross," Phoebe stammered, her voice shaking. "We were just leaving. He got lost."
"Then find your way out," Evelyn hissed, stepping forward to physically obscure the boy from the rest of the room. "Before I have you thrown out into the snow."
