Chapter 5 - Shadows of the Past
The morning brought no peace.
Briar spent the early hours in the penthouse kitchen, ignoring the bewildered glares of the four private chefs as she boiled brown rice, shredded unseasoned poached chicken breast, and blended fresh pumpkin into a gentle, restorative mash. Baron sat faithfully at her side, his heavy tail thumping against the marble every time she dropped a tiny piece of warm poultry into his waiting jaws.
He was recovering at a miraculous rate. The dullness in his eyes had cleared, replaced by a vigilant, protective intelligence. Caucasian Shepherds were guard dogs of the highest order; once they pledged loyalty, they did not waver. And Baron had unequivocally chosen Briar.
"You shouldn't be cooking," a smooth, cultured voice sounded from behind her.
Briar turned to see a woman standing at the kitchen island. She was stunning—tall, with platinum blonde hair styled in an immaculate wave, wearing an emerald silk dress that accentuated every curve. Her manicured nails held a crystal glass of sparkling water, and her icy blue eyes raked over Briar’s oversized sweater with blatant disgust.
"I’m feeding Baron," Briar said evenly, wiping her hands on a clean towel.
"The dog was supposed to be put down yesterday," the woman replied, her red lips curving into a tight, venomous sneer. "Damien’s sentimental attachment to his mother’s beast is becoming an embarrassment to the board. And dragging an uneducated gutter rat into this penthouse is an even bigger scandal."
Baron let out a low, rumbling growl from deep within his chest, rising to his feet, his hackles bristling.
The woman flinched, taking a frantic step back, spilling water onto her silk sleeve. "Control that monster!"
"Baron, sit," Briar commanded softly. The dog obeyed instantly, though his amber eyes remained locked onto the woman's throat. Briar tilted her head, observing the stranger. "And you are?"
"Genevieve Vance," the woman snapped, dabbing her sleeve with a napkin. "Damien’s fiancée."
Briar felt an inexplicable, sudden tightness in her chest, though she kept her face impassive. "I didn't see an engagement ring."
Genevieve’s cheeks flushed a furious red. "Our families have held the joint shares of the Manhattan Maritime Exchange for four generations. The formal announcement is scheduled for tonight at the gala. So whatever little game you're playing with the dog to extort money from Damien, consider it over. When I become the mistress of this estate, your kind won't be permitted past the service elevator."
"I don't want his money," Briar said coldly. "And I certainly don't want him. I’m keeping an innocent animal alive. If that threatens your marriage contract, Genevieve, maybe your position isn't as secure as you think."
Genevieve looked as if she had been slapped. Before she could unleash a tirade, heavy footsteps echoed down the marble hallway. Damien entered, dressed in a charcoal bespoke suit, a tailored wool coat over his arm.
The tension in the kitchen instantly hardened into glass.
"Genevieve," Damien said, his voice completely devoid of affection. "Why are you in my private quarters three hours before the event?"
Genevieve’s venom vanished, replaced by an artificial, melodic smile that made Briar’s stomach turn. "Damien, darling. I came to ensure your styling was arranged for the press. And I wanted to see if... well, if the tragedy with Baron was finally resolved."
Damien didn't answer her. His eyes drifted to Baron, who stood proudly next to Briar, his head resting gently against the girl’s thigh. A faint, inscrutable spark ignited in Damien’s gray eyes.
"As you can see," Damien murmured, "Baron has never been better."
Genevieve’s eyes narrowed into slits as she looked between Damien and the scruffy girl in the oversized sweater. "Splendid," she choked out. "Then I expect you downstairs at seven, Damien. The council is waiting."
She spun on her designer stilettos and clicked away, the heavy double doors slamming shut behind her.
Briar let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to Damien, her jaw tight. "You didn't tell me you were engaged."
Damien stepped closer, his imposing presence filling the kitchen. "I am not engaged. My board of directors wishes it. I have not signed the contract."
"She hates that dog," Briar said bluntly. "She was disappointed to see him alive."
Damien paused, his eyes turning to flint. "I am well aware." He pulled a black velvet box from his pocket and tossed it onto the counter. "Wear it."
Briar opened the box. Resting on black velvet was a breathtaking diamond pendant shaped like an entwined serpent, its eyes set with brilliant emeralds.
"I’m not wearing your jewelry," Briar refused, pushing the box away. "I’m not one of your trophies."
"You are attending the gala tonight at my side, Briar," Damien commanded, stepping into her personal space until the heat of his body radiated against hers. "Because the person who poisoned Baron’s water works closely with Genevieve’s family. Baron will identify their scent the moment they walk into that room. And you are the only one who can keep him calm enough to strike at my command."
Briar stared into his ruthless, beautiful face. Danger lurked in every line of him, yet beneath the darkness, she saw a terrifying truth: Damien Ashworth trusted no one in this world. Except his dying dog. And, somehow, the girl who had saved him.
"Fine," Briar whispered, her pulse racing. "On one condition."
Damien raised an eyebrow, amused. "You dare make conditions with me?"
"When this night is over, and your traitor is caught," she said, her voice shaking with quiet resolve, "you let me go. For good."
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Damien looked at her for a long, agonizing moment. His fingers reached out, his thumb gently brushing across her jawline, sending an involuntary shiver through her veins.
"We'll see, little bird," he whispered. "We'll see."
