Chapter 3 - The Unspoken Rules
My routine began at 5:00 AM.
The estate was vast—thirty-two rooms, an extensive library, private offices, and underground wine cellars. Under the guidance of Mrs. Gable, a stern but kind-hearted woman in her sixties who had served the Slade family for three decades, I quickly learned that maintaining the mansion required flawless precision.
"Mr. Slade does not like clutter," Mrs. Gable explained as we walked down the second-floor gallery. "He wakes at five, exercises in the west gym, and takes his coffee black with two drops of bourbon at six-thirty sharp in his private study. Do not enter the basement level under any circumstances—that is for his personal security team, led by Marcus."
"And Miss Vance?" I asked cautiously.
Mrs. Gable snorted quietly, adjusting her apron. "Miss Victoria resides at her family’s estate in Gold Coast, though she visits unannounced whenever she feels her grasp on Mr. Slade slipping. Be careful around her, child. She is an adder in red lipstick."
By noon, I had polished the mahogany bannisters and organized the extensive collection of first-edition books in the library. Mia slept soundly in a portable bassinet near my workstation, while Ruby sat on a plush rug, quietly drawing pictures with a set of colored pencils Mrs. Gable had given her.
The heavy double doors of the library creaked open.
Darius stepped inside, removing his dark wool overcoat and throwing it over a chair. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate tattoos that stretched down to his wrists—designs of stylized thorns and a silver dragon emblem.
"Mr. Slade," I said, standing up immediately and smoothing my apron. "I’m almost finished with the cataloging."
He didn't look at the books. His gaze drifted to the rug where Ruby was sitting, surrounded by her drawings.
"Is she bothering you?" I asked quickly, stepping forward. "I can take her back to our room—"
"She isn't bothering anyone," Darius said, his deep voice filling the quiet room. He walked over slowly, his heavy polished boots making no sound on the Oriental rug. He stopped beside Ruby and looked down at her paper.
Ruby didn't shrink away. She held up her drawing—a crude crayon portrait of a tall black figure standing beside a smaller blue figure under a giant yellow sun.
"What's this?" Darius asked, crouching down on one knee. The sight of this massive, dangerous man kneeling beside a four-year-old child was so surreal my breath caught in my throat.
"That's you," Ruby said, pointing a small finger at the tall black figure. "And that's me. I drew you big because you made the bad man go away."
Darius stared at the simple piece of paper for a long moment. A strange, unreadable shadow crossed his rugged features—a mix of deep pain and something long dormant.
"I haven't been drawn in yellow and blue for a very long time, little one," he said softly.
"You can keep it," Ruby offered, pushing the paper into his large, scarred hand. "So you remember to keep being a good guy."
Darius closed his hand around the paper carefully, taking care not to crease the edges. "I will put it on my desk."
He stood up, turning his attention to me. "Your husband... Shane Mercer."
The mention of Shane’s name sent a cold chill down my spine. "What about him?"
"He filed a police report this morning," Darius said calmly. "Claiming you abandoned your home and stole five thousand dollars from his personal account."
I gasped, my blood boiling. "That's a lie! He hasn't had five hundred dollars in his account for six months! He took our rent money to spend on that woman at your club!"
"I know," Darius replied smoothly. "The police report has been dismissed. My attorneys visited your former landlord, paid off your remaining lease, and retrieved the rest of your personal belongings from the apartment. They are being unpacked in your suite now."
Tears pricked my eyes. "Mr. Slade... why are you doing all this for us? You don't know me. You owe us nothing."
May you like
Darius walked toward the high arched windows, looking out over the manicured gardens. "Six years ago, my sister and her young son were targeted by a rival family from Detroit. I was twenty minutes too late to save them. When I saw you standing in my club, protecting your daughters with nothing but your own body... I realized I couldn't be late again."
He turned back to look at me, his eyes dark and unwavering. "Shane Mercer will never bother you again, Elena. You have my word."
