Chapter 2

The silence immediately surrounding the head of the table was profound, though the oblivious chatter of the guests further down continued unabated. Alexander’s heavy family signet ring clicked faintly against the rim of his crystal water glass as he stared at the oversized shoes on his daughter’s feet. He didn’t speak immediately. The deep, low register of his voice was something he only used when absolute necessity required it.

“Anna,” Alexander finally murmured, his tone a quiet, measured rumble that sent a sudden chill down the spine of the capo seated nearest to him.

Anna froze. She clutched the empty silver tray to her chest, her knuckles turning white. She didn’t dare meet his eyes, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the polished mahogany of the dining table.

Emily, hearing her father’s voice, stopped playing with her dessert fork. The three-year-old looked directly up at Alexander, her large, innocent eyes wide and remarkably serious for a toddler. She possessed the same fair, rosy skin as her father, but her features were incredibly soft.

“Anna gave me her shoes,” Emily stated, her voice small, fragile, and intensely grateful.

The little girl didn’t let go of her fork, but her free hand shot out, her tiny fingers curling tightly into the pristine white fabric of Anna’s apron. Emily gripped the apron as if the maid were a lifeline, terrified that Alexander’s deep, probing tone meant Anna was going to be sent away.

Alexander’s cold eyes shifted slowly from the child’s desperate grip to the maid’s pale, trembling face, and finally to the woman sitting on his right.

Meredith Blake didn’t flinch. She met Alexander’s penetrating stare with effortless grace. She offered a soft, dismissive laugh that sounded like crystal clinking together—beautiful, but entirely cold. She reached out with her manicured hand, gently resting her fingers over Alexander’s tattooed knuckles on the table.

“She’s encouraging bad behavior,” Meredith said smoothly, her voice a practiced purr. She gestured elegantly toward Anna with her free hand.

Meredith’s smile suggested patient concern. It was a flawless performance designed for the surrounding guests, an attempt to portray herself as the beleaguered future mother trying to instill discipline. But her eyes were frantic. They searched Alexander’s angular, stoic face for any sign of agreement, any flicker of approval for her assessment.

Alexander remained completely unsmiling. The sharp lines of his jaw tightened, the extremely short stubble catching the chandelier light. He slowly pulled his hand out from beneath Meredith’s grip.

Meredith’s practiced smile faltered. Her lips tightened into a thin, angry line as she realized her fiancé was not playing along. She turned her head slightly and shot Anna a swift, venomous warning glance—a silent promise of severe retribution if the maid dared to speak another word.

“Bad behavior,” Alexander repeated. He spoke slowly, with calculated, controlled pauses between the words, testing the phrase in his mouth like a bitter pill. He looked at Emily’s oversized shoes, then at Anna’s bandaged heel. “My daughter required the shoes of my housemaid to correct her bad behavior?”

Meredith shifted uncomfortably in her satin gown. “Alexander, darling, it was just a minor incident earlier. The staff shouldn’t be interfering with our parenting.”

“I see,” Alexander said quietly. He placed his palms flat on the table and slowly pushed his heavy chair back.

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