Chapter 6
Within ninety seconds, the sprawling salon was completely empty, save for Damian, Cecily, Mara, Teddy, and the heavy security detail standing silently by the ivory candles. The bright, airy luminosity of the room now illuminated only the raw, ugly truth of the betrayal.
Damian looked down at Mara. The gentle maid was still standing close to his side, her delicate features pale with shock, yet she had stood her ground.
"Mara," Damian said, his tone softening only marginally as he addressed her, carefully releasing her uninjured wrist. "Take Teddy upstairs to my private quarters. Lock the doors. Allow no one inside but my personal guard."
"Yes, Mr. Whitlock," Mara whispered, her voice shaking with residual adrenaline. She gently squeezed the three-year-old boy’s hand with her uninjured left hand, offering him a small, watery smile. "Come along, Teddy. Let's go see if Santa left anything early."
Teddy looked up at his father, then at Cecily, before clinging tightly to Mara's rumpled white apron. As the injured maid and the toddler hurried away, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble, Damian turned his full, terrifying attention back to the woman in the emerald gown.
"Now," Damian said, taking a slow, predatory step toward her. "You are going to explain to me exactly how many times you have laid your hands on them when I was not looking."
"I won't tell you anything!" Cecily shrieked, backing away until she bumped into a marble column. "If I confess, you will kill me! My silence is the only leverage I have left to walk out of this mansion alive!"
"Do you believe leverage exists for a woman who has just admitted to torturing my staff and starving my son?" Damian countered, stepping closer, his imposing frame blocking her escape.
"My father will not stand for this!" Cecily cried, her pearl earrings swinging wildly. "He is a powerful man, Damian! He will bring the entire Rowe syndicate down on your head! You cannot touch me!"
"Do you expect me to fear a corrupt politician more than I despise a monster standing in my home?" Damian asked, his dark eyes narrowing into cold, unforgiving slits.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the four heavily armed guards stationed near the salon doors.
"Are you men going to secure this traitor, or must I break her legs myself before we walk downstairs?" Damian asked, his command absolute.
Two massive enforcers stepped forward instantly, moving with terrifying, synchronized efficiency. They grabbed Cecily roughly by the arms, entirely ignoring the expensive fabric of her luxurious emerald velvet gown.
"Get your hands off me!" Cecily screamed as they dragged her backward toward the service corridor. "I am Cecily Rowe! I am going to be the lady of this house! Damian, call them off!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Damian commanded, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Ensure the temperature is dropped, and that she is stripped of all jewelry and communication devices."
"You are a dead man, Damian!" Cecily wailed as they hauled her through the heavy doors. "You hear me? You are a dead man!"
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"We will see," Damian murmured to the empty room.
The heavy service doors slammed shut, instantly cutting off Cecily’s frantic, echoing screams. The grand salon was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence.
