Chapter 9
Within ninety seconds, the sprawling salon was completely empty, save for Dorian, Serena, Aria, Owen, and the heavy security detail standing silently by the gilded mirrors. The bright, airy luminosity of the room now illuminated only the raw, ugly truth of the betrayal.
Dorian looked down at Aria. The gentle maid was still standing close to his son, her delicate features pale with shock, yet she had stood her ground.
"Aria," Dorian said, his tone softening only marginally as he addressed her. "Take Owen upstairs to my private quarters. Lock the doors. Allow no one inside but my personal guard."
"Yes, Mr. Thorne," Aria whispered, her voice shaking with adrenaline. She gently took the three-year-old boy’s hand, offering him a small, watery smile, and gently coaxed the maternity cushion from his grasp, leaving it on a velvet sofa. "Come along, Owen. Let's go see if Santa left anything early."
Owen looked up at his father, then at Serena, before clinging tightly to Aria's hand. As the maid and the toddler hurried out of the room, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble, Dorian turned his full, terrifying attention back to the woman in the emerald gown.
"Now," Dorian said, taking a slow, predatory step toward her. "You are going to explain to me exactly how long you planned to keep up this charade."
"I won't tell you anything!" Serena shrieked, backing away until she bumped into a cream 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 manipulating a mafia boss into a fraudulent marriage?" Dorian countered, stepping closer, his imposing frame blocking her escape.
"My father will not stand for this!" Serena cried, her diamond earrings swinging wildly. "He is a powerful man, Dorian! He will bring the entire Hale 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?" Dorian 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?" Dorian asked, his command absolute.
Two massive enforcers stepped forward instantly, moving with terrifying, synchronized efficiency. They grabbed Serena roughly by the arms, entirely ignoring the expensive fabric of her luxurious satin gown.
"Get your hands off me!" Serena screamed as they dragged her backward toward the service corridor. "I am Serena Hale! I am going to be the lady of this house! Dorian, call them off!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Dorian 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, Dorian!" Serena wailed as they hauled her through the heavy doors. "You hear me? You are a dead man!"
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"We will see," Dorian murmured to the empty room.
The heavy service doors slammed shut, instantly cutting off Serena’s frantic, echoing screams. The grand salon was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence.
