Chapter 7
"Does teaching a lesson in respect require chaining a woman to a table like a dog?" Roman inquired, his perceptive eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"She is a maid!" Camille shrieked, pointing a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at Mara, though she shrank back under his lethal glare. "She is nothing! I am the daughter of a king! You cannot humiliate me in front of our families over a meaningless servant!"
"You humiliated yourself the moment you resorted to the tactics of a coward," Roman replied coldly.
He moved with absolute, predatory precision. He did not yell. He did not reach for a weapon. His restraint was a masterclass in terror.
Roman stepped decisively forward, his dark suit absorbing the golden light of the room. He extended an open, tattooed palm directly toward Camille, maintaining steady, unwavering eye contact. The physical gesture was an absolute, unyielding command.
"Camille," Roman stated, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that shook the crystal glasses on the nearby tables.
He allowed a measured, agonizing pause to stretch between them, letting the sheer weight of his authority press down on her chest.
"Where’s the key?" Roman demanded.
The words echoed off the cream marble columns. Camille backed away slightly, her heels clicking unsteadily against the floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the luxurious satin of her expensive gown. Her ruby earrings shook as her aristocratic bravado finally shattered, leaving only primal terror in its wake.
"I don't have it," Camille lied, her breath hitching as she clutched her small evening clutch tightly to her chest.
"Do not lie to me in my own home," Roman whispered, stepping one inch closer. "Give me the key. Now."
The fifty guests surrounding the tables held their collective breath. The tension was a physical, vibrating force. To openly defy the boss was dangerous, but Camille was actively prolonging a public execution.
Camille stared into the dark, bottomless voids of his eyes. She saw the absolute promise of her own destruction written there. Her hands trembled violently as she slowly opened the clasp of her small evening clutch.
May you like
She reached inside, her manicured fingers shaking. With immense, visible reluctance, Camille took the loose brass key from the satin lining of the clutch. She lifted her hand, her eyes wide with fear, and placed the small, heavy key directly into Roman’s open, tattooed palm.
Roman’s fingers closed over the brass metal. He did not break eye contact with her for a full three seconds, ensuring she understood that her reign in this house was entirely over.
