Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Dark
The waltz ended amidst polite, hesitant applause from an audience that was still trying to calculate the political fallout of Victor Hayes taking a nobody from South Boston as his bride.
As soon as the music faded, Victor excused himself for a moment to speak with the city’s police commissioner near the terrace doors, leaving me standing alone by a towering floral arrangement of white orchids and ivy.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my heart, and reached for a glass of sparkling water from a passing silver tray.
“Well, well, well,” a smooth, poisonous voice purred from behind my left shoulder. “If it isn't the little cleaning girl who figured out how to launder herself into a billionaire's bed.”
I froze, the crystal glass trembling slightly in my hand.
I turned around to find Jessica Trent—daughter of a shipping magnate and high school royalty who had spent four years making my life a living hell—standing there in a blinding crimson gown dripping with rubies. Her perfectly manicured fingers were wrapped around a flute of champagne, and her lips were curled into a cruel, venomous smile.
“Jessica,” I said, keeping my voice as flat and steady as possible.
“I saw the society columns this morning, Clara,” Jessica laughed softly, stepping closer so the scent of her heavy designer perfume overpowered the orchids. “Everyone is talking about it. They’re saying Victor Hayes suffered a head injury during a warehouse raid and lost his mind. A maid? Really? How many baseboards did you have to scrub to earn a three-carat diamond ring?”
I looked down at the blinding, flawless ring sparkling on my left ring finger—a stone so heavy it felt like an anchor.
“Not baseboards, Jessica,” I replied, looking her dead in the eye for the first time in my life without shrinking away. “I just learned how to listen when powerful men thought nobody was paying attention.”
Jessica’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. “You think you’re untouchable now because a criminal syndicate boss decided to play Pygmalion with your life? Let me tell you how this ends, Clara. Men like Victor Hayes don't marry maids for love. They collect pretty things until they get bored, and then they throw them in the trash. Or worse—they end up in the harbor with concrete shoes when their enemies realize they’re a liability.”
“Is that so?” a deep, velvet voice resonated directly behind my ear.
The air in the immediate vicinity seemed to vanish entirely. Jessica’s face drained of every drop of color, her knees visibly trembling as she stared past my shoulder.
Victor had materialized out of the shadows. I hadn't even heard his footsteps on the parquet floor.
His large, warm hand settled possessively over my bare shoulder, his fingers resting just above the strap of my silk dress. He didn't look at Jessica; he looked down at me, his gaze softening before he finally turned his cold, gray eyes toward the terrified heiress.
“Mr... Mr. Hayes,” Jessica stammered, dropping her champagne flute. It shattered against the marble floor, spraying liquid across the hem of her crimson gown. “I was just... we were old school friends, just catching up——”
“Your father’s shipping licenses are currently under review by the municipal transport board, Jessica,” Victor said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Tell him that if I ever hear of you speaking to my fiancée with anything less than absolute, reverent respect, I will personally revoke every single dock berth his company leases in Boston Harbor before the sun rises.”
Jessica opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She turned on her heel and fled into the crowd like a deer caught in high beams.
Victor looked down at me, his thumb gently stroking my bare shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered, staring up at him, feeling a strange, intoxicating rush of security mixed with vertigo. “You didn't have to threaten her father’s entire business.”
“I didn't threaten him yet,” Victor corrected smoothly. “I merely stated a contingency plan.”
May you like
He pulled me closer, resting his chin lightly against my hair as the orchestra began to play another song.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured against my ear. “The jackals have had enough entertainment for one night. I want you to myself.”
