Chapter 6
The question hung in the quiet nursery, heavy with an intimacy that left Bree completely breathless. She looked up into Everett’s cold, observant eyes, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. The physical proximity of the deeply masculine, dangerous boss was overwhelming, yet she felt an undeniable, profound sense of safety radiating from him.
"I didn't know what you would do, Mr. Marlowe," Bree whispered truthfully, her expressive brows drawing together. "I only knew that I couldn't let Owen suffer. If my leaving meant he would be safe from her anger, then I had to go."
"Does sacrificing yourself for him make you a maid?" Everett asked quietly. He raised his right hand, his refined artistic tattoos stark against his fair skin, and gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Or does it make you something far more important?"
Bree flushed deeply, a warm pink blooming across her fair, rosy cheeks. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight down her spine. "I don't know how to answer that, sir."
"Are you going to keep calling me 'sir'?" Everett asked, a faint, devastating smile touching the corners of his lips.
"It is proper protocol, Mr. Marlowe," Bree replied softly, dropping her gaze.
"Are we currently observing protocol?" Everett countered smoothly. He dropped his hand, stepping back slightly to give her space. "Protocol dictated that you pack your bags and disappear into the night. You broke protocol the moment you let my son hold onto your cuff."
He walked over to the large bay window, looking out over the dark, sprawling grounds of the estate. The cinematic lighting of the mansion illuminated the falling snow outside.
"Are you aware of the consequences of tonight's events?" Everett asked, staring at the snow.
"I know Annelise's family is very powerful," Bree said nervously. "Will they retaliate?"
"Do wolves hunt when they are hungry?" Everett replied coldly. "The Hart family controls the eastern shipping lanes. Annelise was supposed to be a bridge between our organizations. By throwing her out, I didn't just break an engagement; I declared a territorial war."
Bree’s blood ran cold. The reality of his violent world crashed down upon the fragile peace of the nursery. She had unknowingly triggered a conflict that could consume the entire city.
"Oh my god," Bree gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Everett... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to start a war. I should have just left."
Everett turned around instantly, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, unyielding fire. He crossed the room in two strides, grasping her shoulders firmly in his large hands.
"Did I ask for an apology?" Everett demanded softly, his grip immovable, grounding her completely. "Do you think I would trade my son's happiness for a few shipping containers? Do you think I fear the Hart family?"
"No," Bree whispered, mesmerized by the absolute certainty in his voice.
"We are going into lockdown," Everett stated, releasing her shoulders and stepping back. "I am moving you out of the staff quarters. You will take the suite adjoining this nursery. You are not to leave this floor without a security detail. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Bree nodded quickly. "But... I'm still just a maid. The other staff—"
"Are you?" Everett interrupted. He looked at her, his expression a mask of cold, terrifying stone. "Are you a maid, Bree? Or are you the woman who is going to help me raise my son?"
Before Bree could formulate an answer to the impossible question, the heavy oak door of the nursery burst open.
Marcus rushed into the room, his face grim, holding a ringing, encrypted smartphone.
"Boss," Marcus panted, his eyes darting toward the crib before locking onto Everett. "Is Owen secure?"
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"Is there a reason he wouldn't be?" Everett asked, his posture instantly going rigid, preparing for an assault.
"The Hart family didn't wait for morning," Marcus reported urgently. "They just firebombed our primary distribution warehouse downtown. And Boss... they sent a message. They are demanding we hand over the girl."
