Chapter 2 - The Cold Truth
Vivienne Hart did not flinch, but her painted lips tightened into a thin, brittle line. She adjusted the heavy diamond bracelet on her wrist—a gift Nicholas had bought her two months ago to seal an alliance between their powerful families.
“Nicholas, don’t be absurd,” Vivienne scoffed, stepping down the marble steps with deliberate grace. “The little rat snuck into the private kitchen and stole from the dessert tray meant for tonight’s charity gala committee. When I caught her, she tried to run. I merely grabbed her arm to stop her from knocking over a twenty-thousand-dollar crystal vase. If there are marks, it’s because her skin is delicate, not because I was harsh.”
“She is four years old, Vivienne,” Nicholas said. His voice was terrifyingly calm, lower than a whisper, but it carried across the soaring foyer like a death knell. “You don’t leave purple finger indentations on a four-year-old child because of a cookie.”
“She needs to know her place!” Vivienne’s voice cracked with sudden venom. “She is the maid’s daughter, Nicholas! You let these peasants live under our roof, and now they treat your estate like a playground. Maria was supposed to keep her locked in the servants’ quarters. Instead, the brat wanders into the grand hall, dirtying the rugs, touching things that don’t belong to her!”
Beside the luggage, Maria began to weep harder, her shoulders shaking violently. “Mr. Moretti, please... it was my fault. I was scrubbing the upstairs terrace. I didn’t see her slip away. Don’t blame Miss Hart. We will pack our things and go. Please don’t fight because of us.”
Nicholas didn’t look at Maria. His dark, fathomless eyes remained locked onto his fiancée. He walked forward slowly, each step echoing against the limestone floor. Standing six-foot-three with broad shoulders carved from two decades in the city’s ruthless criminal underbelly, he towered over Vivienne.
“Arthur,” Nicholas called softly without turning his head.
The elderly butler immediately stepped out from the shadows near the grand archway. “Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Did you witness what occurred in the kitchen?”
Vivienne shot Arthur a sharp, warning glare, but the old butler didn’t blink. He had served the Moretti family since Nicholas was a boy.
“I did, sir,” Arthur answered clearly. “Miss Hart dragged the child out of the pantry by the hair before seizing her wrist. When the girl dropped the pastry, Miss Hart slapped her across the face and threw her into the hallway. Miss Hart then informed Maria that if they were not off the premises within twenty minutes, she would have the police plant narcotics in Maria’s bags and ensure the state took the girl away forever.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly.
Lucy let out a muffled sob and buried her face into Maria’s apron. Maria wrapped her arms around her daughter, shielding her tiny body with her own.
Vivienne’s face flushed crimson. “He’s lying! He’s an old fool who takes the side of the help because he’s one of them! Nicholas, look at me! I am your future wife! Are you really going to humiliate me over a filthy maid and her bastard child?”
Nicholas looked at Vivienne. In that moment, whatever calculation, business partnership, or political convenience had brought them together evaporated into thin air.
“You laid your hands on an innocent child under my roof,” Nicholas whispered, his eyes void of warmth. “And then you threatened to destroy her mother’s life.”
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“Nicholas—”
“Take off the ring.”
