Chapter 2
The heavy oak doors of the ballroom slammed shut behind the last fleeing guest, leaving only the echoing silence of the vast estate. The chandeliers hummed softly above, illuminating a room littered with discarded champagne flutes and the debris of a ruined night.
Vivienne stood frozen in the center of the room, the white silk of her gown looking stark against the dark floor. Her hands shook at her sides.
"Ronan," she finally managed, her voice cracking as she took a hesitant step toward him. "You’re making a scene over a servant. A nobody! She ruined my evening, she humiliated me in front of the entire city—"
Ronan didn't turn around. He was still standing near Ivy, his rain-darkened coat wrapped securely around the maid's shoulders. With a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted his hand and signaled his chief of security, a towering man named Viktor, who stepped forward instantly.
"Viktor," Ronan said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Escort Miss Hale to the guest quarters. Have her belongings packed and placed at the front gates by morning."
Vivienne gasped, her eyes widening in sheer horror. "You can't do this! We are engaged! My father funded half of your—"
"Your father's influence ended the moment you raised a weapon in my home," Ronan interrupted, finally turning his head to look at her. His gaze was devoid of any human warmth, cold and final as a tombstone. "The engagement is over. Consider yourself fortunate that I am letting you walk away with the dress on your back, exactly as I promised."
"You'll regret this!" Vivienne screamed, her voice breaking into a hysterical sob as Viktor firmly gripped her arm and began leading her away. "She’s a nobody! A bleeding maid! You'll beg me to come back!"
Her screams echoed down the long corridor until the heavy doors at the end locked shut, plunging the ballroom back into an oppressive, heavy stillness.
Ronan exhaled slowly, the tension in his broad shoulders shifting as he turned back to Ivy. The young catering assistant had fled to the kitchens long ago, leaving Ivy standing alone under the harsh glare of the overhead lights. The blood had soaked further into the navy fabric of her uniform, a stark reminder of the brutality that had just taken place.
"You're bleeding," Ronan stated, his voice losing its lethal edge, softening into something deeper and more complex as he looked down at her.
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"It's just a scratch, Mr. Blackwood," Ivy replied, her voice steady, though her hands trembled slightly beneath the heavy folds of his cashmere coat. She kept her posture upright, refusing to cower. "I should clean up the ballroom."
"Forget the ballroom," Ronan said, stepping closer. The scent of rain, cedar, and raw power surrounded her. "Let the guards handle it. Come with me to the private wing. The doctor is waiting."
