Chapter 1
The silence in the grand ballroom was absolute. Even the crystal chandeliers overhead seemed to stop vibrating as Ronan Blackwood’s tall, imposing frame cast a heavy shadow over the gleaming parquet floor.
Vivienne’s hand trembled slightly, the leather crop still caught in his iron grip. Her confident smirk faltered, replaced by a mask of absolute disbelief.
"Ronan," she breathed, her voice carrying a fragile, desperate sweetness meant for his ears alone. "You... you're early. This wretched creature ruined my gown, she—"
"Quiet," Ronan commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a collective shiver through the assembly of politicians and elite investors.
He didn't look at Vivienne. His dark, unblinking gaze remained locked on the steady crimson stain spreading across Ivy’s navy uniform. The contrast between the pristine white silk of his fiancée and the bloodied cotton of his maid told him everything he needed to know.
Ivy kept her chin up, refusing to shrink away from the man who commanded half the city's underworld. She knew his reputation—cold, calculating, and utterly merciless. Yet, as he gently released the crop from Vivienne’s grip and stepped past her without a second glance, Ivy felt the breath catch in her throat.
Ronan stopped inches from the wounded maid and the trembling nineteen-year-old hiding behind her. Slowly, meticulously, he shrugged off his heavy, rain-dampened cashmere coat and draped it firmly over Ivy’s shoulders, completely ignoring the expensive wool absorbing the blood.
"Get the house doctor to the private wing immediately," Ronan instructed a paralyzed head of security near the doors, never breaking eye contact with Ivy.
May you like
Then, he turned back to face the stunned ballroom, his face a mask of lethal calm.
"The party is over," Ronan said softly, though every word cut like glass. "Security will escort everyone off the property. If any of you speak a word of what happened here tonight, you won't live to see sunrise."
