Chapter 1 - The Midnight Visit
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The servant’s quarters were located in the drafty eastern corridor of the estate, far from the heated marble floors of the main house. Charlene lay on the narrow twin bed, staring at the water stain on the ceiling. The baby was rolling aggressively against her ribs, a relentless reminder of the life growing inside her. She placed her swollen hands over her stomach, tracing the rhythmic movements in the dark.
The lock on her door clicked with a soft, metallic whisper.
Charlene didn’t flinch. There was only one man in the world who possessed the master key to this room, and only one man whose footsteps sounded like a predator stalking through velvet. Dominic Hamilton stepped into the cramped bedroom, sealing the heavy door behind him. He shed his charcoal suit jacket, dropping it over the single wooden chair in the corner. In the dim moonlight filtering through the high window, he looked exhausted, the sharp angles of his jaw tight with suppressed rage.
He didn't speak. He walked to the edge of the narrow bed and dropped to his knees on the cheap linoleum floor.
“Dominic,” Charlene whispered, her voice cracking slightly in the cold air.
He reached out, his massive, calloused hands gently pushing back the thin cotton blanket to rest flat against the swell of her stomach. The baby instantly kicked against his palm, greeting its father. Dominic closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the curve of her belly. A shuddering breath escaped his lips.
“Two weeks,” Dominic murmured, his voice a rough, vibrating rumble in the darkness. “Fourteen days, Charlene. And then I am going to tear Bethany Garcia’s life apart piece by piece.”
“She didn’t hurt me,” Charlene lied softly, running her fingers through his dark, thick hair. “It’s just words, Dominic. I can handle her words if it keeps you safe. If it keeps the baby safe.”
“You shouldn't have to handle anything,” he growled, lifting his head to look into her eyes. The raw, unfiltered possessiveness in his gaze was terrifying and beautiful. “You are the queen of this empire. You are carrying my heir. Watching that parasite speak to you like a dog today nearly made me reach for my weapon in front of the Senator.”
“Vincent stopped you,” she said, knowing exactly how close the illusion had come to breaking.
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“Vincent bought us time,” Dominic corrected, leaning up to press his lips fiercely against hers. The kiss tasted of expensive bourbon and desperate, agonizing patience. “The Irish arrive in two weeks. Once O'Rourke signs the weapons treaty, I won't need the Senator’s political cover anymore. The Petrovs will be slaughtered, and you will never wear that gray apron again. Just hold on for me, Charlene.”
“I’m holding on,” she promised into the dark.
