Chapter 5
The word "Mommy" echoed off the cream marble columns, drawing the immediate, shocked attention of every guest standing nearby. But it was the horrifying context of the "snip-snip" that made the blood run completely cold in the veins of those who understood what they were looking at.
Damian Voss stopped moving entirely. His broad shoulders went rigid beneath his tailored dark three-piece suit. He looked at his toddler daughter, processing the cheerful, innocent exclamation. Then, his dark, observant eyes shifted to the object trembling in the housemaid's raised hand.
He saw the white satin ribbon. He saw the familiar, intricately woven dark hair.
Then, his gaze moved to Mia's face. He saw her unnatural posture, her rumpled apron, and her crooked headband. He saw the ragged, uneven ends of her recently shortened hair, and the sheer, paralyzing terror in her clear, expressive eyes.
The realization of the absolute, humiliating violence that had occurred in his home cemented itself in his calculating mind.
Damian moved with absolute, predatory grace. He closed the distance across the marble floor in two long, fluid strides. He stepped directly beside Mia, his imposing frame casting a protective shadow over the terrified maid.
Before Mia could hang the braid on the tree, Damian reached out. With his artistically tattooed hand, the heavy signet ring gleaming under the chandelier light, he gently grasped Mia’s raised wrist. With immense, quiet authority, Damian gently guided Mia’s raised hand down, safely lowering the severed braid back to her side.
The physical intervention was profound. The effect on the room was instantaneous and absolute.
The sheer, commanding presence of the mafia boss stripped away the festive atmosphere of the Christmas reception in a heartbeat. Every single guest in the grand ballroom stopped eating and speaking. Champagne flutes were lowered slowly back to silver trays. The polite, affluent conversation died entirely in their throats, replaced by a suffocating, terrified vacuum. Fifty faces turned toward the towering Christmas tree, their fair skin paling as they watched Damian Voss.
Damian did not yell. He did not explode. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous than any outburst of rage.
He did not look at his fiancée. He looked directly at Mia.
"Mia," Damian said, his deep, quiet voice echoing loudly in the dead-silent room.
May you like
He paused after her name, a measured, agonizing silence that hung in the bright air like an executioner's blade. He kept his cold, unwavering gaze locked entirely on the broken, exhausted housemaid.
"Did you choose this?" Damian asked.
