Chapter 6
Within ninety seconds, the sprawling salon was completely empty, save for Tristan, Serena, Alina, Mabel, and the heavy security detail standing silently by the ivory candles. The bright, airy luminosity of the room now illuminated only the raw, ugly truth of the betrayal.
Tristan looked down at Alina. The gentle maid was still standing close to his side, clutching the vacuum bag, her delicate features pale with shock, yet she had stood her ground.
"Alina," Tristan said, his tone softening only marginally as he addressed her. "Take Mabel upstairs to my private quarters. Lock the doors. Allow no one inside but my personal guard."
"Yes, Mr. Crowne," Alina whispered, her voice shaking with residual adrenaline. She gently squeezed the three-year-old girl’s hand with her free hand, offering her a small, watery smile. "Come along, Mabel. Let's go see if Santa left anything early."
Mabel looked up at her father, then at Serena, before clinging tightly to Alina's rumpled white apron. As the maid and the toddler hurried away, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble, Tristan turned his full, terrifying attention back to the woman in the emerald velvet gown.
"Now," Tristan said, taking a slow, predatory step toward her. "You are going to explain to me exactly how many times you have tormented them when I was not looking."
"I won't tell you anything!" Serena shrieked, backing away until she bumped into a 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 torturing my staff and exposing my daughter to such depravity?" Tristan 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, Tristan! He will bring the entire Cross 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?" Tristan 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?" Tristan 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 emerald gown.
"Get your hands off me!" Serena screamed as they dragged her backward toward the service corridor. "I am Serena Cross! I am going to be the lady of this house! Tristan, call them off!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Tristan 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, Tristan!" 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," Tristan 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.
