Chapter 2
The heavy silence in the grand dining room felt suffocating. The golden light from the chandeliers seemed to sharpen, illuminating the terrified tremor in Laurel’s injured hand. Before the young maid could formulate an answer to the mafia boss's piercing question, Bianca stepped smoothly into the foreground.
Maintaining direct, unwavering eye contact with Silas, Bianca spoke, her tone dripping with practiced, aristocratic ease. "She slipped cleaning up broken glass."
A sympathetic smile lifted one corner of Bianca's mouth, presenting the perfect image of a concerned future wife. But her eyes remained hyper-watchful, calculating the exact weight of Silas's reaction. Only after she finished delivering the lie did she casually glance toward Laurel, a silent, venomous warning checking whether the maid would dare to contradict her.
Laurel kept her eyes locked on Silas. Moisture gathered rapidly along her lower eyelids. Her expressive brows lifted slightly at the center, a portrait of helpless resignation. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat feeling like jagged glass.
"It was my fault," Laurel whispered, her voice thin and agonizingly apologetic. After forcing the words out, she briefly looked down toward Phoebe, her eyes revealing exactly whom she was trying to protect by taking the blame.
Phoebe, still standing close to Laurel's side, looked at the bruised wrist and then up at her future stepmother. The seven-year-old girl took a deep breath, her small chest rising beneath her pale pink party dress. She turned to face Bianca, holding the older woman's intimidating gaze with a courage that mirrored her father's.
"I broke it. You hurt her."
Phoebe’s small voice was clear, though it shook with undeniable fear. She immediately reached out, gripping Laurel’s uninjured left hand tightly. Laurel’s lips parted slightly in shock, then pressed firmly together as she fought back a sudden wave of tears.
Bianca’s polished smile stopped moving. It froze on her face like a porcelain mask cracking under immense pressure.
Silas shifted his weight, moving with the predatory grace of a panther. He placed his broad shoulders directly between Bianca and both Laurel and Phoebe, effectively building a human wall of tailored charcoal wool between the abuser and her victims. His eyes moved slowly, methodically, from Laurel’s bruised wrist up to Bianca’s perfectly powdered face, settling there with quiet, unmistakable understanding.
Bianca attempted to desperately restore her sympathetic smile, but it faded entirely as she realized exactly how Silas was looking at her. Her fingers tightened fiercely around her diamond engagement ring.
Behind Silas’s immense shoulder, Laurel released a shallow, trembling breath, while Phoebe kept holding the maid's hand in a death grip. The guests remained perfectly still, turned toward the spectacle.
"Did you believe I would not notice the truth, Bianca?" Silas asked, his deep voice barely rising above a whisper, yet echoing like thunder in the silent room.
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"Silas, the child is confused," Bianca laughed nervously, her voice pitching an octave higher. "She’s just attached to the help. You know how children are."
"Is my daughter a liar, Bianca?" Silas inquired, tilting his head just enough for the small artistic tattoo on his neck to show above his collar.
