Chapter 6
The deafening silence in the luminous ballroom was heavy enough to crush bone. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner. Maribel didn't look at Quentin, who was currently slumped and gasping in the upholstered chair.
She immediately abandoned the trolley and rushed back to Ansel's side.
Her expressive eyes were wide with panic as she dropped to her knees beside his chair. With trembling, delicate fingers, she gently supported his newly released left wrist. She held his hand with the utmost care, her thumbs softly brushing over the angry red marks blossoming across his fair skin where Quentin had pinned him.
"Did he break the skin?" Maribel whispered, her voice barely a breath, entirely focused on the physical damage to the man she cared for.
Ansel looked down at her. The cold, lethal fury that had masked his angular face just seconds prior vanished, replaced by a profound, stunning tenderness. He felt the violent shaking of her small hands against his own, observing the sheer terror radiating from her pale, rosy cheeks.
"You're shaking," Ansel said quietly, his deep voice carrying a terrifyingly gentle cadence as he looked directly into her expressive eyes.
Maribel swallowed hard, a visible lump bobbing in her throat. She kept her gaze locked on the red marks on his skin, refusing to look up at the thirty-five guests who were currently staring at her like she was a walking corpse.
"I'm fine," Maribel lied, her American accent trembling uncontrollably. "Does it hurt? Do you need ice?"
"Why did you do that, Maribel?" Ansel asked, his words slow and measured, entirely ignoring her questions about his pain. "Do you understand what you just invited upon yourself?"
"I couldn't let him hurt you," she replied, her voice breaking slightly. She finally looked up, meeting his cold, sharp eyes. "He had no right to touch you like that. Not in your own house. Not in front of them."
Ansel’s jaw tightened. The fierce, irrational loyalty of the housemaid had just altered the entire power dynamic of the room. She had risked her life for his dignity, placing herself directly in the crosshairs of a ruthless usurper.
May you like
"You need to step away from the table, Maribel," Ansel commanded softly, his eyes flicking toward the man struggling to recover his breath in the chair beside them. "Go to the kitchens. Now."
"No," Maribel whispered, her grip on his wrist tightening with a stubborn, terrifying resolve.
