Chapter 2
Moving with seamless, quiet grace through the bright, airy room was Annie Mercer. At twenty-seven, the housemaid was exceptionally beautiful, possessing a movie-star quality that effortlessly rivaled the wealthy women seated at the tables. She had a softly heart-shaped face, delicate cheekbones, and highly expressive brows. Her fair, rosy skin was paler than usual tonight, and her thick hair was arranged meticulously into a soft French twist. She wore a sophisticated black maid dress featuring a cinched waist, a slim fitted silhouette, and a short A-line skirt. A neatly tied white apron, paired with a crisp white collar and cuffs, completed her polished appearance.
However, beneath the flawless presentation of her uniform, Annie carried a heavy, terrifying burden. A faint, purplish bruising marked her delicate cheek—a violent consequence she had endured in absolute silence just hours prior.
Walking closely beside her was six-year-old Flora Ashbourne. The little girl, dressed in an elegant party dress, a small cardigan, and flat shoes, stayed glued to the housemaid’s side. Flora was frightened, her small hands trembling slightly as she navigated the crowded room. She was deeply burdened by the horrific punishment she had witnessed earlier in the afternoon, a punishment inflicted upon Annie simply for comforting the child during a disagreement with Miranda.
Annie carried a silver tray laden with delicate, gold-rimmed dessert plates. She approached the space directly to the right of Kieran’s position, moving with careful, measured steps. She struggled to contain her own distress, forcing her breathing to remain even so as not to draw the attention of the apex predators filling the room.
"Excuse me, Mr. Ashbourne," Annie whispered softly, her American accent trembling slightly as she stepped up to the table.
She carefully lowered the tray and began to set the exquisite dessert before Flora. As Annie bent down, the warm golden light from the cascading crystal chandeliers caught the side of her face, fully illuminating the faint, distinct marks of violence on her cheek.
Flora, seated in her champagne velvet chair, did not look at the dessert. The six-year-old girl raised her small hand. With heartbreaking gentleness, Flora reached out and touched Annie’s bruised cheek.
Annie froze completely. Her breath hitched in her throat. She closed her eyes for a microsecond, the physical contact threatening to break the dam of her composure. Forcing a massive amount of willpower, Annie opened her eyes and managed a small, reassuring smile for the little girl.
"I'm okay, sweetie," Annie whispered, so quietly that only the child was meant to hear it.
But Kieran Ashbourne missed absolutely nothing.
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The Mafia boss had been watching his daughter intently. He noticed the sudden, tender movement of Flora's hand, and then his cold, perceptive eyes locked onto the dark, unmistakable bruising marring the housemaid's beautiful face. He saw the profound, lingering worry etched into his daughter's expression, a look of trauma that no six-year-old should ever possess.
Across the table, Miranda realized what was happening. Her polite, radiant smile vanished for a fraction of a second. She had not anticipated the child drawing attention to the maid's face in the middle of the crowded dining hall. Her fair skin paled slightly, but her sharp survival instincts kicked in, and she quickly plastered a brittle, dismissive expression back onto her face.
