Chapter 3 - Blood and Silk
Ivy’s pulse hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She had worked at the Blackwood estate for eight months, but she had only seen Lord Ronan Blackwood from a distance. He was the legendary Shadow King of the Eastern Seaboard—a man who controlled shipping ports, politicians, and private defense armies. Rumors said he was cold, unfeeling, and merciless.
Yet, as he walked toward her, his heavy combat boots clicking against the marble, Ivy didn't feel fear. She felt a strange, intoxicating warmth.
Ronan stopped inches away from her. Up close, he was overwhelming. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his jaw sharp and covered in light dark stubble, and his storm-gray eyes locked onto hers with intense focus.
"Can you stand?" he asked gently. The shift in his tone sent a shockwave through the watching guests. The ruthless mafia Don was speaking to a maid as if she were made of delicate glass.
"I can stand, my Lord," Ivy replied, her voice soft but steady.
"Don't call me that," Ronan murmured. He glanced at the terrified nineteen-year-old catering assistant crouching behind Ivy. "What is your name, kid?"
"M-Mia, sir," the young girl squeaked out, trembling violently.
"Mia, go to the head housekeeper. Tell her you are off duty for the next month, with full pay. Take care of your mother," Ronan commanded calmly.
Mia’s eyes went wide with shock and gratitude. She bowed frantically before running toward the service doors.
Ronan then turned his attention back to Ivy’s bleeding shoulder. Without a second thought, he unbuttoned his custom-tailored, rain-dampened cashmere overcoat and slipped it off his massive shoulders.
Before Ivy could protest, Ronan draped the heavy, warm coat over her shoulders, completely covering her torn uniform and shielding her from the prying eyes of two hundred wealthy snobs. The coat smelled of cedarwood, rain, and pure masculine power.
"Follow me," Ronan said.
"Sir, the guests..." Ivy gestured weakly toward the crowded ballroom.
Ronan didn't even glance back at the millionaires and politicians. "They can leave. The party is over." He turned to his head of security, Kaelen. "Clear the room. Anyone who recorded a video—confiscate their devices."
"Yes, Boss," Kaelen answered instantly.
Ronan placed a large, calloused hand lightly on the small of Ivy's back. The touch sent a violent shiver of electricity straight down her spine. "Come, Ivy."
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He knew her name. The most powerful man in the state knew the name of a plus-size maid who worked the night shifts.
He led her away from the ballroom, up the grand private staircase toward the estate's top floor—a place no servant was ever permitted to enter.
