Chapter 2
Aveline pushed through the circle of laughing guests, her flat shoes making no sound against the marble floor. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her expressive eyes were locked onto the red, angry mark blooming on Finnian’s neck where the silk tie cut into his skin. The cinematic lighting exposed the absolute vulnerability of the moment.
She reached him just as Marcellus stepped back to admire his work.
"What are you doing, girl?" one of the bodyguards growled, though he didn't release his grip on Finnian's arm.
Aveline ignored him. Her movements toward Finnian were incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence radiating from the men around them. With trembling fingers, she reached up and carefully loosened the twisted silk collar of his shirt. She pulled a clean, folded white napkin from the pocket of her apron and delicately touched it to his reddened cheek.
"Sir..." Aveline whispered softly, her voice shaking with fear, yet resonating with an undeniable, protective courage. She looked up at him, her heart breaking for the pain he was enduring silently. "I'm right here."
Finnian looked down. His cold, observant eyes locked directly into her worried ones. The absolute chaos of the ballroom seemed to evaporate in the space between them. For two years, he had lived in a hollow, freezing void, mourning a wife he thought he failed. Aveline was the only warmth in a house built of ice.
"Why are you risking your life for a man they are about to execute, Aveline?" Finnian asked quietly, the question meant only for her.
"Because they don't know who you are," she whispered back, refusing to step away from his broad shoulders.
Marcellus noticed the exchange. His face twisted with disgust. To see the boss he was trying to humiliate finding comfort in a servant infuriated him. It ruined the narrative of total defeat he was trying to project to the sixty donors and relatives.
"Get away from him, you pathetic little rat," Marcellus spat, stepping forward and aggressively grabbing Finnian’s tie again. He pulled it tight, cutting off Finnian's air, and raised his fist, preparing to deliver a devastating strike to the boss's face.
Aveline’s lips trembled. She saw the raised fist. She saw the two bodyguards tightening their grips.
Without thinking, she turned her head. Mounted on the wall just inches away, beside the heavy service doorway, was a bright red fire extinguisher.
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Aveline didn't scream. She didn't plead for mercy. She moved with sudden, frantic speed, her white apron flaring as she lunged toward the wall. She grabbed the heavy metal cylinder, ripping it forcefully from its mounting bracket.
The watching guests, anticipating a brutal beating, suddenly gasped. The front row of relatives began stepping back rapidly, their phones lowering as the beautiful housemaid swung the heavy extinguisher around.
