Chapter 2
The bright, natural sunlight reflected off the glittering diamond jewelry adorning Veronica’s neck. She watched the three-year-old girl struggle with the heavy shoe-polishing cloth, feeling a sickening surge of power. For months, Veronica had despised the child. Sofia was a living, breathing reminder of Alexander’s past, an obstacle to Veronica’s absolute control over the Vaughn empire.
"Faster, Sofia," Veronica snapped, entirely unsatisfied with the little girl's trembling efforts. "I have a charity gala to attend tonight. I cannot be seen with scuffed heels."
"I can't do it anymore," Sofia cried softly, her small hands dropping the blackened cloth onto the floor. "I want to go to my room."
Veronica’s fair, rosy face flushed with a sudden, vicious anger. "You do not leave until I dismiss you!"
With a sharp, violent motion, Veronica suddenly shoved Sofia backward with her foot. The aggressive push caught the toddler squarely in the chest. Sofia gasped, losing her balance completely. She tumbled backward, her small flats slipping on the polished marble floor. She fell hard beside the wooden shoe-polishing stool, her elbow striking the stone with a painful thud.
Before Veronica could utter another cruel reprimand, the heavy mahogany doors of the master dressing room swung open.
Alexander Vaughn stepped into the bright, cinematic light.
At thirty-three years old, Alexander was devastatingly handsome, possessing a rugged, distinctly masculine aura that screamed Mafia Boss. His thick, neatly styled dark hair was brushed back, framing an angular face, a sharply defined jawline, and a short, well-trimmed full beard. His fair, rosy skin stood in stark contrast to the dark, elegant tattoos that crept up his neck and snaked down his arms beneath his rolled-up sleeves. He wore a dark, expensive suit, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the chest, revealing a glimpse of ink and muscle.
He had returned home early.
Alexander took one step into the room, a heavy leather briefcase in his right hand. His cold, sharp, intimidating eyes instantly assessed the scene. He saw the wooden stool. He saw Veronica sitting arrogantly in her designer dress. And then, he saw his three-year-old daughter sprawled on the marble floor, weeping.
The heavy leather briefcase slipped from Alexander’s grip, crashing onto the hardwood threshold with a deafening thud.
He froze completely. The romantic, charming presence he normally exuded evaporated in a microsecond, replaced by a terrifying, suffocating aura of pure, unadulterated danger.
"Daddy…" Sofia cried, her tiny voice echoing through the massive room. She scrambled to her feet, her little hands covered in thick black shoe polish.
May you like
"Alexander, darling!" Veronica gasped, her American accent pitching high with sudden, frantic nervousness. She immediately stood up, her high heels clicking on the marble. "You're home early! We were just… we were just playing a little game."
Alexander did not look at his fiancée. His eyes remained locked on his daughter. The temperature in the bright, vividly colored room seemed to plummet to absolute zero.
