The chilling secret hidden in the maid’s tea.

Clara sat on the edge of the leather chesterfield sofa in Ronan’s private study, the heavy mahogany doors locked securely behind her. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dying embers in the fireplace and a single brass reading lamp on the massive executive desk. Toby had cried himself to sleep in her arms, utterly exhausted by the tension. She laid him gently on the sofa cushions, draping a heavy cashmere throw blanket over his small frame in his reindeer sweater and red overalls.

She stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped tightly around her own waist, cradling her small bump. The secret was out. The one night she had spent with Ronan—a night born of profound grief and unexpected comfort months ago—had resulted in this. And now, because of it, the city was going to bleed.

The brass doorknob turned, clicked, and then someone knocked three times.

"Clara. It's me."

Clara rushed to the door, turning the heavy deadbolt and pulling it open. Ronan stepped inside, shedding his tailored suit jacket and tossing it carelessly over a chair. He looked exhausted, the sharp lines of his face cast in deep shadows. The small artistic tattoo above his collar peeked out as he loosened his tie.

He locked the door behind him and turned to her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"Is he asleep?" Ronan finally asked, looking at Toby.

"Yes," Clara whispered. "He was so frightened, sir. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to cause all of this."

"Stop," Ronan commanded gently. He crossed the room, stopping mere inches from her. He towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim light. "How long have you known?"

Clara looked down at the floor, a stray tear escaping her clear, expressive eyes and tracking down her fair cheek. "Four months. I found out a few weeks after that night. I didn't want to burden you. You were mourning your late wife, negotiating with the Shaws... I was just a maid."

"You are carrying my blood," Ronan said, his voice thick with an emotion she had never heard from the ruthless boss. He reached out, his large, tattooed hands gently cupping her face, forcing her to look at him. "How did Veronica find out?"

"I was sick one morning," Clara confessed, her voice trembling. "She walked into the servants' bathroom. She figured it out immediately. She told me if I ever told you, she would have my family killed. And then she would kill the baby."

Ronan inhaled sharply, a vicious, murderous light flaring in his dark eyes. His jaw tightened as his hands dropped from her face to grip her waist. Slowly, deliberately, he moved one hand to rest gently over the small bump beneath her apron.

"I am going to destroy the Shaw family," Ronan swore, the promise absolute and terrifying. "They will burn for even looking at you."