Chapter 5
The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet drapes of the Ashford mansion, but it did nothing to dispel the thick, suffocating tension that had settled over the household. The usual bustling sounds of the staff preparing breakfast were replaced by an eerie, disciplined silence. Outside the towering windows, dark SUVs were parked at every gate, and men in dark suits armed with suppressed rifles patrolled the snow-covered grounds. The war with the Drakes had officially begun.
Vera stood in her small bedroom adjacent to the servants' quarters, staring at her reflection in a narrow mirror. She was still wearing her black maid dress, though she had smoothed out the apron and fixed her ruffled headband. She felt like an imposter. The woman who stared back at her was the catalyst for a mafia war that could tear the city apart.
A sharp knock at her door made her jump. Before she could answer, the door swung open. Callan stood in the doorway, dressed in a crisp black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose the intricate ink on his forearms. His eyes swept over her uniform, his brow furrowing in irritation.
"Take that off," Callan ordered, stepping into her cramped room.
Vera blinked, her pale cheeks flushing crimson. "Excuse me?"
"The uniform, Vera. Take it off," he repeated, stepping closer until he towered over her. "You are no longer a maid in this house. You don't serve tea. You don't scrub floors."
"But Mr. Ashford, this is my job," Vera stammered, backing up until her spine hit the cool wall. "If I'm not a maid, what am I? Why am I still here?"
Callan raised a hand, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. The contrast of his dark, tattooed skin against her fair complexion made her breath hitch. "You are Jude’s mother. At least, in his eyes. And as of last night, you are under my personal protection. Which makes you untouchable."
"Simone won't just let this go," Vera whispered, her eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. "She told me once that her father has politicians in his pocket. She said if anyone ever crossed her, she would bury them."
"Simone Drake is a spoiled brat playing at being a gangster," Callan scoffed, dropping his hand but refusing to step back, trapping her in his gravity. "Her father, Elias, is a problem, yes. But I have dealt with worse men than Elias Drake."
"I don't want anyone to die because of me," she pleaded, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Callan wiped the tear away with his thumb. "Nobody in my family is going to die. But the Drakes? That’s entirely up to them. Now, go to the guest suite on the second floor. There are clothes in the wardrobe that will fit you. From now on, you eat at my table."
Vera opened her mouth to argue, but the sheer finality in his tone stopped her. "Why are you doing this for me? I'm just..."
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"If you say 'just a maid' one more time, I will lock you in that guest suite," Callan interrupted softly. He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You protected my son from a monster when I was too blind to see it. You bled for him. You belong with us now, Vera. Accept it."
With that, Callan turned and walked out of the room, leaving Vera trembling, not from fear, but from a terrifying, unfamiliar thrill.
