Chapter 3
The heavy mahogany doors of Tristan’s private study clicked shut, severing them from the chaotic murmurs of the reception hall. The room was a fortress of dark leather, towering bookshelves, and a massive stone fireplace where a fire crackled fiercely, casting long shadows against the walls.
Tristan guided Lila to a plush leather armchair near the hearth, waiting until she sank into the cushions before he exhaled a heavy, ragged breath. He took the glass of water from her trembling hands and set it on his desk.
Henry immediately dropped onto the thick Persian rug, holding his plush fox, blissfully oblivious to the tectonic plates shifting in his father's criminal empire.
Tristan walked over to a crystal decanter, poured two fingers of amber liquid, and downed it in a single swallow. He turned to face Lila, leaning against the edge of his desk. The imposing mafia boss looked deeply shaken, a rare vulnerability cracking his hardened exterior.
"How long?" Tristan asked, his voice a low, raspy whisper. "How long has she been treating you like this, Lila?"
Lila looked down at her lap, her fingers nervously pleating the fabric of her rumpled white apron. "It started a few months ago, sir. Small things. Deliberately knocking over water buckets I had just filled. Tearing the hems of my uniforms. But today... Henry had a nightmare during his nap. I went to him. He was crying, and I just... I sang the song I heard you playing on the piano once. The lullaby."
Tristan closed his eyes, his head dropping as a violent curse escaped his lips.
"She waited until I was in the servant's washroom," Lila continued, a single tear spilling over her rosy cheek. "She pushed me against the sink and shoved the soap in my mouth. She told me if I ever sang that song again, or if I tried to tell you, she would make sure I never saw Henry again."
"Why didn't you come to me?" Tristan demanded, pushing off the desk and kneeling directly in front of her chair. His dark eyes burned with a fierce, protective intensity. "Why did you suffer in silence?"
"Because she was going to be your wife," Lila whispered, her voice cracking. "I am just a maid, Mr. Ashford. If I accused her without proof, she would have had me fired. Or worse. And then who would have looked out for Henry?"
Tristan reached out, his large, tattooed hands gently enveloping hers. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles in a deeply intimate, comforting gesture that made her breath hitch.
"You are not a maid anymore, Lila," Tristan said, his voice dropping to a fierce, unwavering vow. "You are the only person in this house who put my son's well-being above their own fear. You protected him when I was blind to the poison in my own home."
"Mr. Ashford, the Rowe family won't accept what happened out there," Lila said, her brow furrowing with deep worry. "Sabrina’s father controls the western docks. He is a violent man. I don't want to be the reason your empire goes to war."
"Let them come," Tristan said, his jaw setting into a rigid, dangerous line. "I built this empire, and I will defend it. You and Henry are my priority now."
"But—"
May you like
"No buts," Tristan interrupted softly. He reached up, gently straightening her slightly crooked white ruffled headband, his knuckles brushing against her fair hair. "You will stay in the secure wing tonight. You will never have to scrub another floor or fear another threat in this house. You belong to us now."
Lila looked into his unwavering gaze, feeling a strange, terrifying flutter in her chest. The ruthless mafia boss was offering her the one thing she had never had in this brutal world: absolute, unconditional protection.
