Chapter 1
The dining room of the Ashford mansion was a masterclass in suffocating elegance. Three tiered crystal chandeliers hung heavy from the ceiling, casting a luminous, warm golden glow over the crowded engagement dinner. The cinematic lighting, devoid of any muddy orange or heavy yellow cast, struck the polished mahogany table and fractured into brilliant glimmers across the crystal stemware. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, expensive wine, and the underlying tension that always accompanied a gathering of the elite. Ivory taper candles flickered in ornate brass candelabras, their reflections multiplying across the tall, gilt-framed mirrors lining the carved walnut paneling.
Dominic Ashford sat at the head of the table. At forty-three, he was the undisputed apex predator of the city’s underworld. He was handsome in a deeply masculine, arresting way, with powerful shoulders that filled out a tailored dark three-piece suit effortlessly. He possessed an angular face, a high-bridged nose, and a sharply defined jawline shadowed by extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble. His thick, slightly wavy hair was swept back, though a few loose strands fell over his forehead. He possessed cold, perceptive eyes that missed absolutely nothing. Refined, artistic tattoos decorated his hands and fingers with generous negative space, matching the small ink visible on his neck. A heavy family signet ring rested on his finger, gleaming beside an expensive wristwatch.
"Is the wine to your liking, Dominic?" a high-ranking capo asked from down the table, desperate to curry favor.
"Has it ever disappointed me?" Dominic replied. His deep, low voice rolled through the room, his signature controlled pauses forcing everyone to hang on his words. He spoke exclusively in questions, a terrifying habit that forced others to provide answers while he gave nothing away.
To his right sat Vivienne Shaw. At thirty-three, she was striking, her fair skin glowing against a sculpted satin evening gown. Heavy diamond earrings caught the chandelier light, and a massive engagement ring rested on her finger. She offered polished, public smiles to the guests, but beneath the veneer was a quietly controlling woman who believed she had finally secured her throne.
"It's a beautiful vintage, darling," Vivienne said smoothly, reaching out to rest her manicured hand over his tattooed knuckles. "A perfect choice for tonight, wouldn't you say?"
"Would I?" Dominic murmured, not looking at her. His cold eyes had already shifted to the kitchen doors.
Nora Collins stepped silently into the bright room. At twenty-seven, she was the estate's primary housemaid, but her delicate beauty rivaled a movie star. She possessed a softly oval face, delicate cheekbones, expressive brows, and fair, rosy skin. Her hair was gathered into a neat low chignon. She wore a sophisticated black maid dress with a cinched waist, a slim fitted silhouette, and a short A-line skirt. A white collar, cuffs, and a neatly tied white apron completed the uniform. She moved with elegant, feminine polish, carrying a heavy silver cloche.
But as she approached the head of the table, the bright light highlighted a stark anomaly. Nora’s right wrist was tightly wrapped in a medical bandage, hidden slightly by her loose white cuff.
May you like
She stopped beside Dominic’s chair. Her hands were visibly trembling as she gripped the handle of the silver cover.
"Is there a problem, Nora?" Dominic asked quietly, watching her struggle.
