Chapter 3 - The Coldest Man in Manhattan
Dominic walked into the ballroom flanked by four high-ranking lieutenants dressed in tailored dark suits.
He was a imposing figure—six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes like polished gray ice. In Manhattan, politicians bowed to him and criminal syndicates feared his name. He didn't just own real estate; he controlled the invisible infrastructure of the city.
He paused at the edge of the room, his sharp eyes sweeping over the quiet crowd, the spilled red wine on the Italian marble floor, and finally resting on the scene in the center.
He saw Ella standing tall with a bruised, reddened cheek and wine-stained clothes. He saw his mother holding a handkerchief. And he saw Vivienne standing over both of them with an empty wine glass.
Dominic took a slow step forward. The sound of his leather shoes clicking against the marble echoed like gunfire in a quiet cathedral.
"What is happening here?" Dominic’s voice was low, smooth, and laced with a quiet lethargy that chilled the spine of every man in the room.
Vivienne instantly transformed. Her fierce, cruel expression vanished, replaced in a split second by a soft, trembling mask of innocent distress. She rushed toward Dominic, wrapping her arms around his elbow, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Oh, Dominic, darling!" she sobbed softly, putting on a flawless performance. "It was awful! This maid... she intentionally poured red wine all over my gown! When I asked her to be careful, she raised her voice at me and threatened to make a scene! Your poor mother got confused and tried to defend her... I was just trying to keep order!"
Dominic didn't hug her back. His eyes remained fixed on Ella.
Ella stood her ground, meeting his icy gaze without flinching. She refused to look down like a guilty child.
Dominic looked down at his fiancée. "Did she pour the wine, Vivienne?"
"Yes! She did it out of spite!" Vivienne pleaded, squeezing his arm. "Darling, she’s incompetent! She’s been disrespecting me for weeks! Fire her right now and have your security throw her out into the street!"
Dominic didn't answer. He slowly unclasped Vivienne’s hands from his arm and stepped past her.
He walked directly toward Ella.
The guests held their breath, expecting the feared billionaire to tear the poor maid to pieces.
Instead, Dominic stopped two feet in front of Ella. His eyes shifted from her bruised cheek down to the tray she still held tightly in her hands.
"Miss Marsh," Dominic said, his tone devoid of anger, yet intensely focused. "Did you throw the wine?"
"No, Mr. Vance," Ella replied clearly, her voice echoing in the hush. "Miss Ashford stepped into my path deliberately. And when I explained what happened, she struck me."
Vivienne gasped dramatically. "She’s lying, Dominic! Why would you believe a dirty little maid over your own fiancée?!"
Dominic didn't look back at Vivienne. He turned his head slowly toward his mother.
"Mother," Dominic asked softly. "What did you see?"
Margaret looked at her son, her hands resting firmly on her cane. "I saw Vivienne slap a girl who works twelve hours a day to keep this house running, Dominic. And then I heard what she whispered to me."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. "What did she whisper to you, Mother?"
Margaret opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ella stepped forward.
"She told your mother she was a senile burden, Mr. Vance," Ella said, her voice filled with quiet rage. "And she said that after the wedding, she was going to ship her off to an asylum upstate so she wouldn't ruin her social standing."
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The room went completely dead silent.
Vivienne’s face drained of every ounce of color.
