Chapter 2 - The Sanctum
The third floor of the Blackwood estate was a place where no servant was permitted to tread without express written permission. It was Ronan’s private sanctuary—a sprawling suite of dark oak panels, leather furniture, towering bookshelves, and bulletproof floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty Maryland pine forests.
Ronan pushed open the heavy double doors with his shoulder and carried Ivy straight into his private sitting room. He laid her down gently on a massive leather sofa positioned near a crackling fireplace.
"Stay still," he commanded softly, grabbing a plush cashmere blanket from a armchair and draping it carefully over her lap.
Ivy gripped the edges of the blanket, her pulse racing wildly. Her shoulder was throbbing with a sickening, rhythmic pain, but the psychological shock was far more overwhelming. Five minutes ago, she was a discarded nobody destined for a beating; now, she was sitting inside the private quarters of the city’s most ruthless crime lord, being covered in a blanket that probably cost more than her annual salary.
"Mr. Blackwood, please," Ivy said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to maintain her composure. "You don't need to do this. I’m fine. I can apply antiseptic in my room."
Ronan walked over to a marble bar, poured two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal glass, and brought it back to her. He knelt on one knee beside the sofa—a posture that, had anyone else in the syndicate seen it, would have caused utter disbelief. The sovereign of the underworld was kneeling before a housemaid.
"Drink," he said, pressing the glass into her cold hands. "It will dull the sting until Vance arrives."
Ivy stared at the amber liquid, then at him. "Why are you doing this?"
Ronan’s gray eyes held hers. "Because Vivienne Hale did not hurt a servant tonight. She hurt you."
"I am a servant," Ivy reminded him gently, her tone flat. "I’ve worked here for six months. You’ve never spoken a single word to me until tonight."
Ronan let out a low, breathy laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping across stone. "I haven't spoken to you, Ivy, but I have watched you."
Ivy froze.
"I’ve watched you carry heavy linen crates without complaining while the other girls slacked off," Ronan murmured, his gaze dipping down to her full lips before returning to her eyes. "I’ve watched you give your break-time meals to the stray dogs near the eastern gate. I’ve watched you stand tall in a house full of arrogant narcissists who treat you like you’re invisible because you don't fit their shallow standards of beauty."
He leaned in slightly closer, the scent of expensive rain-drenched cologne enveloping her.
"They see a maid," Ronan whispered, his hand gently resting on the wooden frame of the sofa right beside her hip. "I see a woman with more courage in her little finger than my entire board of directors."
Before Ivy could digest his words, the double doors clicked open, and Dr. Harrison Vance—a tall, gray-haired physician who served as the Blackwood family’s private medical specialist—hurried inside carrying a silver medical case.
"Ronan! I got the call," Dr. Vance said, rushing over. He paused in absolute shock when he saw Ivy sitting on Ronan’s sofa, wrapped in his blanket, drinking his whiskey. "What on earth happened here?"
"A laceration on her left shoulder," Ronan said, rising smoothly to his feet, his friendly tone instantly vanishing as he reverted to his cold, commanding aura. "Clean it. Stitch it. If you leave a scar, Harrison, I’ll dock your retainer."
"It’s fine, Doctor," Ivy said quickly, trying to defuse the sudden tension. "Please don't mind him."
Dr. Vance blinked, amazed that a maid had just corrected Ronan Blackwood without being struck down, but he quickly unpacked his medical supplies. "Alright, my dear. Let's take a look. I'll need to cut away the torn fabric around the wound."
As Dr. Vance pulled out a pair of medical scissors, Ronan stepped behind the sofa, placing himself directly in Ivy’s line of sight. He didn't leave the room. He stood there like a stone sentinel, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the world.
When Dr. Vance applied the cold antiseptic wipe to the exposed wound, Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, a sharp gasp of pain escaping her lips.
Instantly, a warm, thick hand wrapped around hers.
Ivy opened her eyes in surprise. Ronan had extended his hand to her. His fingers were laced tightly with hers, offering an unyielding support.
"Squeeze as hard as you need to," Ronan whispered, his thumb slowly stroking the back of her hand.
Ivy didn't argue. As the needle pierced her skin to begin the sutures, she clamped her fingers down on Ronan’s hand with all her strength. He didn't even flinch. He just held her, his slate-gray eyes locked onto hers, anchor in a storm of agony.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Vance wiped his hands and tied off a neat white bandage over Ivy’s shoulder. "All done. Four stitches. The skin wasn't torn too deeply, but you must avoid heavy lifting for at least ten days, Miss Lancaster."
"Ten days?" Ivy asked, panic rising in her chest. "Doctor, I can't take ten days off. If I don't work, my pay is docked, and my brothers' school tuition—"
"Your pay will not be docked," Ronan interrupted firmly, stepping back to let Dr. Vance pack his bag. "Starting tonight, your duties as housemaid are officially terminated."
Ivy’s heart dropped into her stomach. A cold dread swept over her. She pulled her hand back from his. "You’re firing me?"
Ronan looked down at her, a strange, unreadable shadow passing over his sharp features.
"You are no longer a maid, Ivy," Ronan said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "As of tomorrow morning, you are my personal administrative assistant. You will answer directly to me. Your salary will be multiplied by ten, your living quarters will be moved to the guest wing on the second floor, and you will never hold a mop in this house again."
May you like
Ivy stared at him, completely speechless. "Mr. Blackwood... this is absurd! People will talk! Your lieutenants, the staff... they’ll think—"
"Let them think whatever they damn well please," Ronan snapped quietly, leaning over her until his face was inches from hers. "In this city, my word is law. And I say you belong at my side."
