Chapter 4
The heavy doors clicked shut, plunging the vast, luminous dining hall into a profound, ringing silence. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned fine porcelain and half-empty crystal wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt like a gilded interrogation chamber.
Marina backed away from the head table, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the sculpted satin of her expensive gown. Her diamond earrings shook as she wept, her carefully constructed facade entirely destroyed.
"Cyrus, you cannot believe this is real," Marina sobbed, her chest heaving. "My family arranged this marriage! We are supposed to unite our syndicates! Are you going to throw all of that away because of a misunderstanding and a lying maid?"
Cyrus stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He slowly crouched down, bringing his handsome, angular face level with his son’s.
"Can you tell me exactly what she said to you today, Asa?" Cyrus asked gently, his deep voice softening significantly to comfort the boy.
Asa sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his small hand. He looked at Della, who gave him an encouraging, tearful nod, before looking back into his father's cold, but loving, eyes.
"She said you didn't have time for a weak boy," Asa explained, his voice trembling but remarkably clear. "She said you bought the collar for me so I would learn to be quiet and act like a man. She said if I took it off, you would send me away."
Marina let out a blood-curdling scream of denial. "He is lying! The maid told him to say that! She has been trying to frame me for this!"
Cyrus rose slowly to his full height. He turned his broad, powerful shoulders toward his fiancée. The extremely short stubble on his jawline seemed to bristle with barely contained violence.
"Would Della risk her life in this house to manufacture such a claim?" Cyrus asked.
"Yes!" Marina shrieked, pointing viciously at the housemaid. "Look at her! She thinks she's better than me just because she plays mommy to your little brat!"
Cyrus didn't look at Della. He kept his perceptive eyes locked entirely on Marina, dissecting her panic, reading the absolute guilt written plainly across her flushed, rosy skin. He had survived in the criminal underworld by being an unparalleled judge of human character. He knew when someone was lying to him, and he knew the awful, crushing weight of the truth.
"Are you capable of telling the truth, Marina, or must I extract it from you?" Cyrus asked, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.
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"I love you, Cyrus!" she wept, falling to her knees on the luxurious rug, the sculpted satin of her gown pooling around her. She clasped her hands together in a begging gesture. "Please, darling! My father forced me to do it! He said an heir from your first marriage would threaten our bloodline! I didn't want to hurt him! I was just trying to toughen him up!"
"Did you believe that torturing my son would secure your place at the head of this empire?" Cyrus asked, his voice dropping to a terrifying, gravelly whisper.
