Chapter 6
The library of the Westbrook estate was a massive, imposing room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, smelling heavily of aged paper, expensive cigars, and polished mahogany. The room was dimly lit, save for the bright, focused light pooling over the large desk in the center.
Harlan walked behind the desk, standing perfectly still. He had removed his tailored suit jacket, leaving him in his dark vest and crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the forearms, exposing more of the refined artistic tattoos that marked his skin. Without the jacket, the sheer width of his powerful shoulders was even more imposing.
"Sit down, Anya," Harlan murmured, gesturing to a plush leather armchair opposite the desk.
Anya hesitated, then slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the seat. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"Did you know she intended to poison me?" Harlan asked, his perceptive eyes locking onto her delicate, softly oval face.
"No, sir," Anya replied honestly. "I only knew she was deeply paranoid all afternoon. Ms. Vale caught me setting the table. She poured the wine herself and demanded I drink from your glass. She told me if I spoke a word of it, she would ensure I disappeared."
"And yet, you spoke in front of fifty made men," Harlan mused softly, leaning against the mahogany desk. "Did you not fear the consequences?"
"I feared letting you drink it more," Anya whispered, her expressive brows drawing together.
Harlan stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. The coldness in his eyes melted entirely, replaced by a profound, terrifying intensity. He was a man who ruled an empire built on fear and loyalty, and he had just witnessed an act of pure, unselfish courage from a woman who had absolutely nothing to gain.
"Are you aware that I am removing you from the domestic staff?" Harlan asked.
Anya’s breath hitched. She assumed her time in the house was over. Despite her actions, she had caused a massive scene. She fully expected to be handed her final paycheck and shown the door.
"I understand, sir," Anya said, her voice shaking slightly as she looked down at her hands.
"Do you?" Harlan countered smoothly. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches away from her chair. He reached out, his tattooed fingers gently lifting her chin, forcing her to meet his dark eyes. "I am appointing you as my personal assistant. You will move into the suite adjoining mine. Your salary will be tripled. You will answer to no one but me. Do you accept the position?"
Anya’s expressive brows lifted in shock. The promotion was unheard of. It meant stepping out of the shadows of the staff and directly into the inner circle of the most powerful family in the city.
"Mr. Westbrook, I... I am honored," Anya stammered, her heart racing. "But I don't have the training for that. I am just a maid."
"Are you the woman who risked your life to stop me from drinking poison?" Harlan corrected smoothly, his towering frame imposing and incredibly close. "I can hire secretaries. I cannot buy loyalty. Will you accept the position?"
Anya looked up into his deep, piercing eyes. She saw the ruthless killer, but she also saw a man who recognized her worth.
"Yes," Anya breathed, the single word sealing her fate. "I accept."
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Harlan smiled faintly, a subtle, devastating expression that made her heart flutter erratically.
Before the moment could escalate, the heavy doors burst open, and Marcus rushed into the room. The head of security looked uncharacteristically frantic, his suit rumpled, holding a ringing, encrypted phone in his hand.
