Chapter 2 - The Intrusion of the Real World
The grandfather clock in the lower hall struck six times before the heavy oak door of the private library swung open again.
Mara Ellis stood on the threshold, breathless, her face drained of color. She had searched the ground floor, checked the conservatories, and finally noticed the security monitor in the staff wing registering heat signatures on the restricted second floor.
When she saw Vincent Rowan—the man whose mere signature could freeze corporate bank accounts across the entire Eastern Seaboard—kneeling on the Persian rug with her seven-year-old daughter wrapped around his neck, Mara’s heart stopped.
“Sophie!” Mara gasped, her voice cracking with terror. She stepped into the room, her hands trembling as she reached out. “Sophie, get away from Mr. Rowan right now. I am so, so sorry, sir—she slipped past the service lift, she didn't mean to—please don't fire me, I’ll take her out immediately—”
Vincent stood up slowly, still holding Sophie securely until her feet touched the floor. He didn't look angry. That was what terrified Mara the most. When Vincent Rowan was angry, men shouted or packed their bags. When he was calm, things simply vanished.
“She wasn't trespassing, Mara,” Vincent said, his voice deep and entirely level.
Sophie grabbed the hem of her mother’s apron, peeking out from behind her legs. “We were just talking, Mom. He gave me five minutes.”
Mara looked down at her daughter, her eyes wide with a mixture of reprimand and sheer panic. “Sophie, go down to the kitchen. Mrs. Gable has fresh bread. Go.”
Without a word, Sophie picked up the oversized green coat, hugged her stuffed lion under her arm, and scurried out of the library, closing the heavy door softly behind her.
The silence returned to the room, heavier than before.
Mara stood facing her employer, her posture rigid. She was thirty-two, dark-haired, with fine lines around her eyes earned from years of working double shifts after her husband’s death. She wore the dark linen uniform of Rowan House’s head manager, but tonight she looked less like an employee and more like a soldier facing a firing squad.
“Mr. Rowan,” Mara began, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to steady it. “If she disturbed your work, it’s my fault. I’ve been working late organizing the winter gala inventory, and I lost track of her for ten minutes. It won't happen again. If you need to dock my pay—or if you need us to leave—just tell me.”
Vincent walked back toward his desk, but he didn't sit down. He rested one hand against the polished walnut surface, his gray eyes studying her with an intensity that made Mara feel as though every secret she owned was transparent.
“Your daughter told me her father died two years ago,” Vincent said quietly.
Mara stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat. “That... that is none of your concern, sir.”
“She came up here because she was hurt,” Vincent continued, ignoring her defiance. “Because some children at her school said cruel things about him. And because she remembered a timer on a stove.”
Mara closed her eyes for a single second, a sharp, familiar pain lancing through her chest. “Children are cruel. Schools are... difficult. I try to be both mother and father to her, but sometimes it’s not enough.”
“She asked me to hold her for five minutes,” Vincent said, stepping around the desk.
Mara opened her eyes, bracing herself for whatever cold reprimand was coming. Instead, Vincent stopped just four feet away from her. Up close, his towering height and the faint, jagged scars visible along his collar beneath his open shirt collar were intimidating.
“And did you?” Mara whispered involuntarily.
“Yes,” Vincent replied simply.
May you like
Mara stared at him, bewildered. The man who refused to meet with city mayors without a formal appointment had spent five minutes sitting on a library floor comforting a grieving child.
“You can keep your job, Mara,” Vincent said, turning his back to look out at the rain-streaked window. “And your daughter is welcome in this library whenever she needs five minutes. Now go down to the kitchen. You both look like you haven't eaten a proper meal today.”
