Chapter 2
The heavy, suffocating darkness of the second-floor dressing room was a stark contrast to the brilliant golden light flooding the salon below. Aria Bennett huddled on the cold hardwood floor, shivering violently in her fitted black maid dress. She had been locked in this windowless room for nearly eighteen hours. Her fair, rosy skin was pale and drawn from exhaustion and terror. Her delicate features were pinched with anxiety, and her clear, highly expressive eyes were wide with a lingering, paralyzing fear.
Aria pushed herself up against the heavy wooden door, her breathing ragged. Her pristine uniform was in ruins. The black dress was deeply creased from sleeping on the floor, and her white apron was heavily rumpled and stained with dust. The crisp white collar and cuffs were crumpled, and her white ruffled maid headband sat entirely crooked in her disheveled, tangled hair.
"Hello?" Aria whispered, her American accent cracking as she pressed her ear against the heavy wood. "Is anyone there? Please, you have to let me out!"
Silence answered her. The music from the Christmas reception was entirely muffled by the thick walls of the mansion.
Aria closed her eyes, the horrifying memory of the previous evening replaying in her mind. She had been tasked with organizing Serena’s extensive wardrobe for the holiday events. While putting away a stack of silk scarves, she had opened Serena’s private dressing bag. Inside, she had found it—a beige, fabric-covered maternity cushion. The straps and padding were undeniable. Serena Hale was not pregnant.
Before Aria could process the devastating implications of the fake belly, Serena had entered the room. The cold, aristocratic woman had seen the maid holding the cushion. There had been no explanation, only a vicious, feral panic. Serena had shoved Aria violently into the adjoining storage closet, slamming the heavy door and locking it from the outside.
"You breathe a word of this, you little peasant, and I will have my father's men bury you in the foundation of this house," Serena had hissed through the wood.
Aria let out a shaky sob, wrapping her arms around her waist. She knew the brutal, unforgiving nature of the syndicate. If Serena told Dorian that the maid had tried to steal from her, Aria would be executed without a second thought. But if Dorian married Serena believing she was carrying his child, the entire power dynamic of the mafia families would be built on a monstrous lie.
Suddenly, a faint click echoed through the darkness.
Aria froze. The heavy brass doorknob turned slowly, and the door swung outward. The bright light of the hallway blinded her for a moment. Standing in the doorway was an older housekeeper, carrying a stack of fresh linens.
"Aria? What on earth are you doing in there?" the older woman gasped, taking in the disheveled, terrified state of the young maid. "You missed your entire shift! Mr. Thorne is looking for you!"
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"I got locked in," Aria lied quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn't tell another servant; it would put a target on the older woman's back. "The latch stuck. Thank you for opening it."
Aria didn't wait for further questions. She pushed past the housekeeper, her black flats making almost no sound on the carpeted hallway. She needed to find Dorian. She needed to tell him the truth before the evening ended, regardless of the danger to her own life. She descended the grand marble staircase, her rumpled apron fluttering, and stepped into the blinding, warm golden light of the crowded salon.
