Chapter 3
The clatter of crystal glasses and the low hum of affluent conversations provided a rhythmic backdrop to the Christmas Eve festivities. Mara kept her puffy, exhausted eyes focused entirely on the gift boxes, desperately trying to remain composed. She watched Camille glide effortlessly through the crowd, her champagne satin gown shimmering. Camille was a predator in a room full of wolves, completely unbothered by the fact that she had chained a human being to a table like an animal.
"You are looking exceptionally radiant tonight, Camille," a wealthy donor complimented, smiling broadly.
"Thank you, Richard," Camille replied, her accent dripping with affluent charm. "Roman and I are entirely committed to building a beautiful legacy together. Tonight is a celebration of that future."
Mara’s stomach churned violently at the flawless deception. She looked down at the mahogany table, praying to remain unnoticed.
Before she could finish tying a bow on the current package, a small, cheerful figure bounded past the burgundy velvet sofas.
Three-year-old Jude Ashford, Roman’s toddler son, was navigating the crowded room with bright, innocent enthusiasm. The motherless boy possessed soft round cheeks, fair skin, and tiny dimples that appeared whenever he smiled. A mop of soft dark curls framed his face. He was dressed impeccably in a burgundy knitted romper featuring a little reindeer patch, cream knitted tights, and tiny tan boots.
"Mommy!" Jude announced happily, bypassing the wealthy donors and his future stepmother entirely to run straight toward the gift-wrapping table.
"Hello, my sweet boy," Mara whispered, forcing a fragile, loving smile onto her face as the toddler approached.
Over the past year, the little boy had found unwavering comfort in the gentle maid. In a house filled with cold, calculating adults, Mara had been the only source of genuine warmth, leading Jude to adopt her as the maternal figure he so desperately craved. It was a bond that fueled Camille's hatred even further.
"Mommy making presents?" Jude asked, resting his small hands on the edge of the mahogany table, stretching up on his tiptoes to see the wrapping paper.
"Yes, baby," Mara said softly, her right hand reaching out to gently brush a soft curl from his forehead. "I am wrapping presents for the guests."
"Are you okay, Mommy?" Jude asked, his observant dark eyes—so much like his father's—noticing the tears gathering on her lower eyelids.
May you like
"I'm perfectly fine, Jude," Mara lied, her chest aching with a profound, terrifying love for the child.
Across the room, Roman Ashford noticed his son peeling away from the crowd. The mafia boss excused himself from his conversation with Vincent, his broad shoulders parting the sea of guests as he walked slowly toward the wrapping table to retrieve the boy. Camille, noticing Roman's trajectory, immediately abandoned her conversation and followed closely behind him, her ruby earrings swaying with her hurried, elegant steps.
