Chapter 7 - The Master Suite Secrets
When I opened my eyes again, the blizzard was gone.
Soft, golden sunlight poured through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a bedroom that looked larger than my entire family home. The ceiling was adorned with intricate plaster molds, a king-sized bed wrapped in deep green silk sheets sat in the center, and a crackling fire warmed the grand brick fireplace across the room.
I stirred, feeling the smooth texture of high-thread-count cotton against my skin. I wasn't wearing my soaked, rough maid’s uniform anymore; instead, I was dressed in a soft, oversized cashmere sweater that smelled faintly of cedarwood and expensive cologne. My fingers were wrapped in clean white bandages, warm and throbbing with a dull, manageable ache.
"Don't try to sit up too fast," a deep voice warned softly.
I turned my head slowly. Nicholas Grimaldiro was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair near the window, a cup of dark coffee in his hand and an open folder resting on his lap. He had swapped his suit for a simple black sweater, his dark hair messy, looking remarkably relaxed for a man who had thrown someone into a snowstorm twelve hours ago.
"Mr... Mr. Grimaldiro?" I rasped, my throat feeling dry like sandpaper.
"Nicholas," he corrected, setting his coffee cup down on a glass side table and standing up. He walked over to the bed, picking up a glass of water from the nightstand and offering it to me. "Drink slowly."
I reached out with my bandaged hands, but my fingers were too weak to grasp the heavy glass securely. Before I could drop it, Nicholas reached out, steadying my hands with his own, holding the glass gently to my lips so I could take small sips.
The closeness of him—the sheer physical presence and power he radiated—made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Thank you," I murmured, sinking back into the soft pillows once I had drunk enough. "Where... where am I?"
"My personal quarter," Nicholas said, pulling the chair closer to the edge of the bed and sitting down. "The doctor treated your frostbite. He says you'll make a full recovery, but you need at least a week of bed rest."
I panicked instantly, trying to push myself up despite the dizziness washing over me. "A week? No, I can't! I have to work—I need this job! I have bills to pay, and my sister's medical fees—"
"Elena, stop," Nicholas commanded gently, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down into the mattress. "You are not working. Not today, not next week."
"Are you firing me?" My voice broke, tears instantly welling up in my eyes. "Please, Mr. Grimaldiro... I know I broke the vase, but I need this money..."
Nicholas let out a low, dark sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if fighting off a headache. He looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
"I am not firing you, Elena. And as for the vase..." He reached onto his lap, picked up the thin folder he had been reading, and opened it. "I had my men do a little digging into Richard’s recent transactions after I threw him out last night."
He turned the folder toward me, revealing copies of bank statements and shipping manifests.
"That blue-and-white porcelain vase you dropped?" Nicholas said, a cold edge returning to his voice. "It was a fake. A cheap, fifty-dollar resin replica."
I blinked, thoroughly confused. "What? But Mr. Caldwell said it was a seventeenth-century antique..."
"The real seventeenth-century antique was stolen from my collection two months ago," Nicholas revealed, his eyes narrowing. "Richard replaced it with a replica, sold the original to an underground black-market collector in Chicago for eighty thousand dollars, and pocketed the cash. He was waiting for an excuse to 'accidentally' break the fake so no one would ever examine it closely."
My jaw dropped. "He... he was going to pin the theft on me?"
"You didn't ruin his night by breaking the vase, Elena," Nicholas said softly, leaning closer until his face was just inches from mine. "You ruined his cover. He used your mistake to try and cover his tracks, and when you panicked, he decided to eliminate the witness by throwing you into the freezing cold."
The realization hit me like a physical blow. The constant bullying, the impossible standards, the way Richard had insisted I carry that specific vase down the stairs—it wasn't just cruelty. It was a setup.
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"Why..." I whispered, looking into Nicholas's dark eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because," Nicholas said softly, his fingers gently brushing a strand of dark hair away from my face, "nobody uses people in my house and gets away with it. Especially not to you."
