Chapter 4
The bright, cinematic lighting of the dining salon offered no shadows for Aurelia to hide in. She stood trembling, cradling her bruised forearm against her elegant evening gown, the diamond jewelry catching the light in a mocking display of wealth. Her two bodyguards stood frozen behind her, their hands hovering near their holstered weapons, unsure whether to protect their employer or surrender to the terrifying man standing before them.
Reeve Ashbourne did not yell. He did not order his men to execute her on the spot. His stillness was far more lethal than any sudden outburst of violence. He slowly turned his head, pulling his gaze away from Mireille, and looked directly at his older cousin.
He reached out with a slow, deliberate motion, his tattooed hand closing around the neck of his private wine decanter—the one marked with the distinct red ribbon. The heavy crystal vessel sloshed slightly as he lifted it from the table.
He placed the red-ribboned decanter directly on the table directly before Aurelia. The heavy thud of the crystal against the wood echoed like a judge's gavel in the silent room.
"Then pour yourself a glass," Reeve said.
His deep, measured voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a dangerous, apocalyptic fury that resonated in the bones of every person in the room. It was not a request; it was a lethal challenge, a demand for her to prove her innocence by consuming the very poison she had intended for him.
Aurelia stared at the decanter. Her fair, rosy skin drained of all color, turning a sickly, terrified pale. She did not move. Her manicured hand remained clutched against her chest. To drink from the decanter was suicide; to refuse was a full confession of treason. She was entirely trapped.
Both of her bodyguards slowly turned their heads, looking toward her, waiting for her to move, waiting for her to prove the maid a liar. But Aurelia remained paralyzed.
Mireille remained steadfast beside Reeve. She did not shrink back into the shadows. Her small hand reached out, gently supporting his muscular arm, an anchor in the storm of violence that was about to break. Dozens of elite guests watched in absolute shock as the power dynamics of the entire syndicate shifted permanently in front of their eyes.
"I... I can't," Aurelia whispered, her voice cracking, completely devoid of the aristocratic venom she had wielded moments before.
Reeve tilted his head slightly, his sharp jawline setting into stone. "Are you refusing a drink from my private stock, Aurelia?"
"It’s not what you think, Reeve!" Aurelia cried, panic finally breaking her polished facade. She backed away from the decanter as if it were a bomb. "I was forced! The Lucchese family threatened me! They said if you didn't die tonight, they would slaughter our entire eastern distribution network!"
May you like
Reeve’s dark eyes narrowed into cold, unforgiving slits. The implication that she had allied with their greatest rivals to stage a coup within his own home was a betrayal that demanded absolute eradication.
"Do you expect me to accept cowardice as a valid excuse for treason?" Reeve asked softly, raising his right hand in a subtle, sharp gesture.
