Chapter 2 - The Red Silk TrapClara sat in the guest suite upstairs, wearing a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and dark trousers provided by Aunt Rosa’s private wardrobe. Her dark curls were still damp from the shower, clinging to her neck. She stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror, her heart still hammering against her ribs.
She had survived the humiliation of the paint, but she wasn't foolish enough to think she was safe.
A sharp knock echoed at the door.
Clara stood up instantly, bracing herself. When she opened it, Damian Moretti stood in the hallway, casting a long, imposing shadow across the antique rug. He didn't look like a groom whose wedding was dissolving into chaos. He looked like an executioner.
"May I come in?" he asked, not waiting for an answer as he stepped past her into the room.
Clara closed the door slowly. "If this is about the memory card, Mr. Moretti, I've already told your security team everything I know."
"You told them what you saw. You haven't told me why you were looking behind my grandfather’s portrait in the first place." Damian turned, fixing her with a piercing, analytical gaze. "Mr. Reeves is the head of maintenance. He doesn't send kitchen maids to check wall anchors unless someone specifically complained about the alignment. And no one did."
Clara didn't flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her full lips pressing into a firm line. "Mr. Reeves didn't send me."
Damian raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"An hour before the party, I was clearing glasses from the library. I heard voices coming from the gallery," Clara said, her voice steady. "Vanessa and her brother Julian. They were arguing. Julian said, 'If the old man’s painting gets crooked again during the toast, the panel will pop loose.' Vanessa told him to shut up before someone heard."
Damian’s eyes darkened. "Go on."
"I knew that portrait was hung professionally last week. It couldn't possibly become crooked on its own unless someone tampered with the mechanism behind it," Clara continued. "When everyone went downstairs to welcome the guests, I went into the gallery to check. The wall panel was loose. When I touched it, the frame shifted, and the card dropped out. Right before Vanessa walked in and saw me."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Damian studied her—really studied her. The way her chin tilted up, the quiet intelligence in her dark eyes, the total lack of servile trembling that most people exhibited in his presence.
"You risked your life for a memory card," Damian said softly. "You knew what Vanessa was capable of, yet you kept your fist closed."
"I knew if I handed it to her, it would disappear forever," Clara replied without hesitation. "And I happen to like my job, Mr. Moretti. I also happen to dislike being humiliated by people who think wealth makes them invincible."
A slow, dangerous smile touched the corner of Damian’s mouth—the first real expression of amusement he had shown all night.
"You have remarkable courage, Clara Hayes," he murmured, taking a step closer. "Or remarkable stupidity."
"Time will tell," she answered, holding her ground.
Before Damian could reply, his encrypted satellite phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened instantly.
"Stay in this room," Damian ordered, turning toward the door. "Do not open it for anyone except me or Aunt Rosa."
May you like
"What happened?" Clara asked.
"Julian Sterling just tried to run for the gates," Damian said coldly, his hand on the doorknob. "And my men caught him with a second memory card—and a detonator."
