Chapter 9 - The Ice Queen Returns
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For three days, Lena existed in a strange, luxurious limbo.
She was given free reign of the massive estate, provided she was accompanied by a guard if she stepped outside the house. She spent her time in the sprawling library, reading books she had never had the time or money to afford.
Victor was largely absent, consumed by endless, tense meetings with his capos in the war room down the hall.
On the fourth afternoon, the fragile peace of the compound was shattered.
Lena was reading by the fireplace in the main drawing room when the heavy double doors were thrown open.
Clara Whitmore stormed into the room, flanked by two of Victor’s guards who looked highly uncomfortable trying to block the fiancée of the boss.
Clara wore a pristine white trench coat, her blonde hair perfectly styled, her eyes blazing with furious, aristocratic entitlement. When she saw Lena sitting by the fire in a cashmere sweater provided by the estate, her face twisted in pure disgust.
"Get out," Clara snapped at the guards. "I need to speak to the help."
The guards hesitated, looking at Lena. Lena gave a small nod, and they retreated to the hallway, leaving the door cracked open.
Clara slowly walked toward the fireplace, looking around the room as if assessing her future kingdom.
"I have to admit, you played your hand very well for a peasant," Clara sneered, stopping a few feet away. "You throw a lucky punch, bat your tragic little eyes, and suddenly you’re playing house in Victor’s compound."
Lena stood up, refusing to cower. "I’m not playing anything. I’m here because your father tried to have him killed."
Clara’s eyes flashed with genuine panic for a fraction of a second before the cold mask slammed back into place. "You have no idea what you are talking about. You are a paranoid waitress trying to extort a wealthy man."
"I saw the vial, Clara," Lena said evenly. "And Victor knows."
Clara stepped into Lena’s personal space, lowering her voice to a vicious hiss. "Listen to me, you pathetic nobody. Victor Romano is a king. He needs a queen who understands power, politics, and the blood required to run this city. You are a novelty. A stray dog he felt sorry for. The moment the novelty wears off, he will throw you back into the gutter."
"If I'm a stray dog," Lena replied, her voice surprisingly steady, "why are you so terrified of me?"
Clara raised her hand, fully intending to slap the insolence out of the maid’s face.
Before her hand could make contact, a massive, unyielding grip caught Clara’s wrist mid-air.
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Victor had entered the room without making a sound. His face was a mask of terrifying, absolute rage.
"If you ever raise your hand to her again," Victor promised, his voice a lethal, vibrating hum, "I will cut it off."
