Chapter 2
The stinging red mark on Soren’s fair cheek was a glaring contrast to the immaculate, pristine elegance of the ballroom. The laughter of his traitorous relatives continued to ripple through the champagne velvet chairs, a sickening soundtrack to his public execution of character. The bodyguards maintained their iron grip on his biceps, waiting for Cressida’s next command.
From the periphery of the banquet tables, a figure moved with sudden, desperate urgency. Verity Langley, a twenty-five-year-old housemaid, broke the ranks of the paralyzed staff. She was movie-star beautiful, possessing a softly contoured face, expressive eyes, and dark hair neatly pinned into an elegant bun. She wore a fitted black maid dress with a cinched waist and a short A-line skirt. Her white apron, collar, cuffs, and delicate white lace maid headband stood out starkly against the dark fabric of her uniform.
"What is she doing?" a guest whispered, lowering their champagne glass as the young woman bypassed the armed men.
Verity ignored them all. She approached Soren immediately, her flat shoes making barely a whisper against the polished marble. Her expressive eyes were wide, filling rapidly with a profound, aching concern. She did not look at Cressida, nor did she acknowledge the towering bodyguards. Her entire world, in that fleeting moment, was entirely focused on the mafia boss she served.
She reached into the pocket of her pristine white apron and retrieved a perfectly folded, clean linen napkin. With a trembling hand, she reached up and gently touched the linen to Soren’s reddened cheek.
Soren’s cold, observant eyes shifted. He looked down at the beautiful maid, taken aback by her sudden, fearless proximity.
"Why are you risking your life to comfort me, Verity?" Soren asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, the question hanging in the space between them. "Do you not see the guns in this room?"
Verity’s fingers lingered near his jawline, searching his handsome, angular face for the man she knew existed beneath the hardened exterior. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling against the fitted bodice of her dress.
"Sir..." Verity began, her voice trembling softly, barely carrying over the hushed whispers of the ballroom. She kept her gaze locked securely with his, offering a fragile tether of hope in a sea of betrayal. "They never abandoned you."
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Soren became perfectly still. The ambient noise of the ballroom seemed to evaporate. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating whisper. "Are you telling me my wife didn't leave?"
Verity nodded slowly, her expressive eyes shining with unshed tears. "I promise you, sir. They never left."
