Chapter 7
The sprawling mansion was eerily quiet as Holly led Owen up the sweeping marble staircase, carrying the shivering spaniel puppy in her other arm. The luminous, airy glow of the first floor gave way to the softer, more muted lighting of the private family wing. The warm golden hues of the wall sconces guided them past gilded mirrors and heavy silk curtains, leading them to the massive oak doors of Owen’s room.
Holly helped Owen out of his formal dinner clothes, hanging the navy suit carefully in the closet and trading his stiff shirt for a pair of soft, cotton pajamas. The little boy was exhausted, the adrenaline of the evening leaving him heavy-limbed and lethargic. Teddy curled up immediately at the foot of the bed, finally resting without the threat of the red ribbon.
Holly pulled the thick duvet back and tucked Owen in, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She smoothed his hair, her heart aching for the trauma the child had endured, carrying the terrifying threats of a cruel woman alone.
"Are the bad men going to come here?" Owen asked, his eyelids drooping heavily. He understood enough of the syndicate life to know that Camille’s violent departure meant danger.
"Do you think anyone could ever get past your father to hurt you?" Holly asked softly, borrowing Adrian's method of questioning to comfort the child.
Owen smiled sleepily, his fair skin glowing in the dim light. "No. Daddy is the strongest."
"He loves you very much, Owen," Holly whispered, kissing his forehead. "You are safe."
Within minutes, the boy’s breathing evened out into a deep, peaceful rhythm. Holly remained seated on the bed for a long time, watching him sleep. Her graceful posture finally relaxed, the tension bleeding out of her slender figure. She closed her eyes, replaying the terrifying, awe-inspiring way Adrian had defended them both.
A quiet, rhythmic tapping on the open doorframe broke the silence.
Holly opened her eyes and turned her head. Adrian stood in the doorway. He had discarded his suit jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, looking slightly less formal but infinitely more dangerous. The loose strands of dark hair fell over his forehead, and his powerful shoulders leaned casually against the wooden frame. His perceptive eyes were fixed on her.
Holly stood up quickly, smoothing her white apron over her short A-line skirt. "He just fell asleep, sir."
Adrian stepped quietly into the room, his polished shoes making no sound. He walked over to the bed, looking down at his son and the sleeping puppy with a profound, unspoken affection. He reached out, his beautifully tattooed fingers gently adjusting the blanket over the boy's shoulders.
"Does he look peaceful to you, Holly?" Adrian asked in a hushed whisper.
"He does, sir," Holly replied, standing close enough to smell the faint, intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne mixed with a hint of dark whiskey.
"Do you know that you are the reason he feels safe enough to rest?" Adrian asked, turning his head to look down at her.
Holly’s breath caught in her throat. His physical proximity was overwhelming. The sheer, rugged beauty of his angular face and naturally swept-back hair was breathtaking up close.
"I just did what anyone would do," Holly deflected modestly, her rosy cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.
"Do you truly believe that anyone else in that dining room would have defied my fiancée to protect a dog and a child?" Adrian asked softly.
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"They were afraid of her, Mr. Blackwell," Holly answered honestly.
"Should I have paid closer attention to the shadows in my own home?" Adrian asked, looking away, a rare expression of deep guilt crossing his handsome face. "Did my ambition blind me to the cruelty happening under my own roof?"
