Chapter 8: The Guard's Warning
The hallway outside the west wing was shrouded in twilight, the wall sconces casting a flickering orange glow over the dark wood paneling. I walked briskly, my footsteps muffled by the thick Persian runner, carrying a tray of empty tea porcelain back to the kitchens. My encounter in the study still echoed in my mind; Dante hadn't punished me, but the look in his eyes had promised a reckoning I couldn't yet define.
As I rounded the corner near the grand staircase, a tall figure stepped out from the architectural recess, blocking my path. It was Miller. The security guard stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his dark suit immaculate, his expression an impenetrable wall of professional detachment.
"You've been spending a great deal of time in proximity to Mr. Romano and the child," Miller said, his voice dropping into a low, conversational tone that carried an unmistakable undercurrent of menace. "In this house, curiosity is a liability. People who ask questions tend to find themselves outside the gates before they realize the locks have changed."
I tightened my grip on the silver tray, forcing my breathing to remain even. I had lived under the threat of dismissal since my first day, but now the stakes were entirely different. This wasn't about a spilled glass of water or a broken plate; it was about survival.
"I'm only doing my job, Mr. Miller," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Taking care of Sophie."
Miller leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned my face for any sign of hesitation. "Mr. Romano has enemies, girl. Men who want to tear down everything he's built. If you bring outside complications into this house—if you interfere with matters that exceed your station—neither he nor I will be able to protect you."
Before I could formulate a response, the sound of heavy boots echoing from the upper gallery broke the tension. Dante appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at us with an expression of cold, absolute authority. The amber light caught the silver knife he habitually carried, though it rested safely in his belt.
"Is there a problem in the corridor, Miller?" Dante’s voice rolled down the stairwell, low and commanding.
May you like
Miller straightened immediately, stepping aside. "None at all, Mrisk Romano. Just reviewing estate protocols with the staff."
Dante descended a few steps, his dark gaze shifting from Miller to me. A subtle, micro-expression of warning passed across his features before he spoke. "Return to the nursery. Sophie is awake." I dipped my head and hurried past them, knowing the fragile trust I had built with Dante was the only thing keeping Miller's hands off me.
