Chapter 2
THE CRACK IN THE MANSION
Bastian Calder did not blink.
His grey eyes remained locked onto Rosalyn’s face.
The silence inside the grand conservatory grew suffocating.
Outside, the heavy autumn rain lashed against the tall glass panels.
Inside, the tension cut deeper than any blade.
Rosalyn forced a delicate, trembling smile to her lips.
She raised a manicured hand to touch her pearl necklace.
"Evan has an overactive imagination, Bastian," she murmured.
Her voice sounded sweet, almost too sweet.
"Children at seven often confuse dreams with reality."
Mira Bennett felt her muscles lock with cold fury.
She kept her gaze fixed on the polished marble floor.
She dared not speak without Bastian’s direct command.
A housemaid in the Calder estate had no voice against a fiancée.
Especially not against Rosalyn Voss, daughter of shipping magnates.
Bastian slowly lowered his hand from Evan’s small shoulder.
He took one deliberate step toward Rosalyn.
The sound of his leather shoes echoed sharply.
"Did Evan have a nightmare, Rosalyn?" Bastian asked quietly.
His tone carried a terrifying stillness.
It was the voice he used before destroying corporate rivals.
Rosalyn’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.
She took a half-step backward, her designer heels clicking.
"Of course he did, darling. What else could it be?"
She let out a nervous, breathless little laugh.
"The poor boy wandered into the library last night."
"He found poor Bruno tangled in the heavy drapes."
"The dog must have snapped at him out of panic."
"I merely stepped in to pull Evan away."
"That is when the beast bit my arm."
She pulled back the sleeve of her silk blouse slightly.
A faint, reddish scratch marred her pale skin.
It looked fresh, almost theatrically placed.
Evan pressed his face tightly against Mira’s apron.
He shook his head furiously, tears spilling over.
"She lied," Evan whispered into the cotton fabric.
"She pushed Bruno down the stairs."
"I saw her through the banister."
Bastian heard every single word in the quiet room.
His gaze flicked down to the scratch on Rosalyn’s arm.
Then his eyes traveled back to his terrified son.
"Mira," Bastian said, his voice dropping an octave.
"Look at me."
Mira slowly raised her chin to meet his gaze.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, but steady and clear.
"Is Evan telling the truth?" Bastian demanded.
Mira’s breath caught in her throat.
If she told the truth, she would lose her job today.
If she lied, an innocent animal would be put down.
More importantly, a little boy’s trust would be shattered.
"Yes, Mr. Calder," Mira said firmly.
"Bruno never bit anyone in his ten years of life."
"The bandage on his leg is from a heavy blow."
"Someone struck him with a brass fireplace poker."
Gasps echoed around the sunlit conservatory perimeter.
Several family advisors and estate managers murmured in shock.
Rosalyn’s face flushed from pale white to burning crimson.
"How dare you!" Rosalyn shrieked, dropping the sweet facade.
Her voice pierced the air like breaking glass.
"You harbor a filthy, lying domestic and a vicious animal!"
"Bastian, fire her this instant!"
"Send them both away from this house forever!"
Bastian raised a single hand to silence the room.
The gesture was effortless, yet absolute.
Rosalyn snapped her mouth shut, chest heaving rapidly.
Bastian turned back to look down at old Bruno.
The German shepherd let out a low, tired whimper.
Bruno nudged Evan’s shoe with his wet nose.
Bastian knelt on the cold marble floor beside his son.
He reached out a large, calloused hand to touch the dog’s head.
Bruno did not flinch; instead, he leaned into the warmth.
"Dr. Vance is still in the East Wing, correct?" Bastian asked.
Mira nodded quickly, her heart pounding against her ribs.
"Yes, sir. He checked on the master bedroom earlier."
"Fetch him," Bastian ordered without looking up.
"Have him examine Bruno’s leg immediately."
"And have security pull the hallway surveillance logs."
Rosalyn went completely rigid at the mention of logs.
Her eyes darted frantically toward the security keypad.
"The cameras in the west wing were offline last night!" Rosalyn blurted out.
She spoke too quickly, her panic completely exposed.
Bastian slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder.
A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his striking features.
"I never mentioned which hallway, Rosalyn," Bastian said softly.
"How did you know the west wing cameras were offline?"
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The silence returned, heavier and deadlier than before.
[Cliffhanger: Bastian slowly stands up, locking the conservatory doors from the inside with a heavy click, trapping everyone inside with their secrets.]
