Chapter 3
The silence in the opulent salon stretched until it felt like a physical weight pressing against the guests' chests. Nobody dared to breathe. Ronan stood like a dark monolith between the two women, his broad shoulders completely shielding Clara from Veronica’s view. The artistic tattoos on his hands stood out starkly against his dark suit as he flexed his fingers.
"You tried to poison her," Ronan stated, his voice a low, guttural rumble that sent shivers down Clara’s spine. It wasn't a question. It was a death sentence.
"Ronan, darling, you are making a scene over a misunderstanding," Veronica said, attempting to close the distance between them. She reached out to touch his arm. "The girl is hysterical. I was merely offering her tea."
"Do not touch me," Ronan commanded.
Veronica’s hand hovered in the air before slowly dropping to her side. The diamond earrings caught the light as she trembled with sudden, unrestrained fury.
"You are going to take the word of the help?" Veronica hissed, dropping the facade. "Over me? Over the Shaw family? My father is in the adjoining room, Ronan. Do not humiliate me in front of our guests for some pathetic little servant!"
"She is carrying my child," Ronan replied, his tone glacial and absolute. "And you threatened her in my house."
"She is a maid!" Veronica shrieked, no longer caring who heard her. "She is nothing! I am to be your wife. I am the lady of this syndicate. I will not have some disheveled whore usurping my place!"
Toby whimpered, hiding his face against Clara's rumpled apron. Clara dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms protectively around the toddler, her own body shaking violently.
Ronan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered beneath his short stubble. He finally broke his stare with Veronica and turned to the crowd of onlookers, his voice booming with absolute authority.
"The reception is over. Everyone, get out. Now."
The guests didn't need to be told twice. The elite members of the underworld scrambled toward the grand double doors, leaving their champagne flutes on the burgundy velvet sofas and marble tables. Within two minutes, the luxurious salon was completely empty, save for Ronan, Clara, Toby, and a seething Veronica.
"You are making a grave mistake, Ronan," Veronica warned, her voice shaking with rage. "My father will view this as an act of war."
"Let him," Ronan said smoothly. He looked down at Clara, his gaze softening just a fraction as he saw her holding his son. "Take Toby to my private study. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me."
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"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne," Clara whispered. She scooped Toby into her arms, the toddler clinging tightly to her neck. She didn't look back as she hurried out of the salon.
Behind her, she heard Ronan speak one last time. "The engagement is broken, Veronica. Leave my property before I kill you myself."
