Chapter 3 - The Engagement Mask
The main library of the Vale estate was a sprawling, two-story room lined with dark walnut bookcases, oriental rugs, and a massive granite fireplace where a low wood fire crackled softly.
Claire Bennett stood near the fireplace, wearing a stunning white wool coat, diamond earrings, and high-heeled leather boots. Her blond hair was styled in flawless waves, and her smile was bright, radiant, and utterly effortless as Dominic walked into the room.
“Dominic!” Claire gasped softly, rushing toward him with her arms open. “Darling! Nathan told me you came home early from Atlantic City! I was so worried when I heard about the commotion in the cellar!”
Dominic stood still as she wrapped her arms around his neck, smelling her expensive French perfume. He let her kiss his cheek, feeling the soft, smooth skin of the woman he had planned to marry in six weeks.
“You look pale, Dominic,” Claire said, pulling back slightly, her blue eyes wide with faux concern. “Nathan told me that poor housekeeper was found locked downstairs? How dreadful! Has she explained why she went down there?”
Dominic walked past her, stepping toward the large mahogany desk near the windows. He picked up a crystal decanter of scotch, poured two fingers into a tumbler, and took a slow sip.
“Mia says she was locked in that vault three days ago, Claire,” Dominic said, his back turned to her.
Claire took a elegant step forward, her brow furrowing in practiced sympathy. “Three days? Oh, the poor thing must have been confused! She told me on Tuesday morning that she had an urgent family emergency in Pennsylvania. I even offered to give her extra vacation days! She must have gone down to gather supplies and accidentally locked herself inside!”
Dominic turned around slowly, resting his hips against the edge of the mahogany desk. “The lock on that cellar door was a brand-new brass industrial deadbolt, Claire. Nathan said you installed it.”
Claire didn't blink. Her smile remained perfectly intact, a masterpiece of high-society composure.
“I did, darling!” she admitted instantly, laughing softly as if amused by her own prudence. “Your estate manager mentioned that several rare bottles of 1945 Romanée-Conti were unaccounted for on the inventory ledger. With so many caterers, florists, and external contractors coming in and out of the house for our wedding planning, I thought it was only responsible to secure the vault! I had no idea Mia was inside when the locksmith finished!”
It was a brilliant lie. Quick, logical, public-spirited, and completely plausible to anyone who didn't know the truth.
“And what about my private workstation, Claire?” Dominic asked softly.
The air in the library suddenly grew thin.
Claire’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly around her leather handbag. “What do you mean, darling?”
“My terminal was accessed three days ago,” Dominic said, stepping toward her. “Files regarding the Vale Foundation accounts were copied onto an external drive. Mia saw you doing it.”
Claire’s bright expression vanished, replaced by an expression of wounded innocence. Tears welled up in her blue eyes with incredible speed.
“Dominic... are you seriously taking the word of a traumatized, uneducated housekeeper over your own fiancée?” Claire asked, her voice trembling with emotion. “I was in your study looking for our venue confirmation receipts! I don't know anything about server files or accounts! If Mia is claiming I locked her in a basement, she must be suffering from dehydration delirium! Or worse... maybe she was trying to steal from you herself and is trying to blame me!”
Dominic stared at her face, examining every muscle, every twitch of her jaw. She was the daughter of a United States Senator, educated at Oxford, groomed for international diplomacy and high-society galas. She was an exquisite creature.
And she was a monster.
Footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor as Nathan Cross entered the library, holding a leather folder.
“Dom,” Nathan said smoothly, stepping between Dominic and Claire. “I just finished reviewing the security footage from the western corridor. The cameras on the sub-level suffered a power surge on Tuesday evening. There’s no video record of who entered the wine cellar between 6:00 PM and midnight.”
“A power surge,” Dominic repeated flatly.
“Yes,” Nathan nodded gravely. “I’ve already called the security contractor to audit the system. In the meantime, Claire’s father, Senator Bennett, just called my cell. He’s hosting the preliminary campaign fundraising dinner at the Hudson Country Club tonight. He expects us both to attend.”
Claire reached out and took Dominic’s hand, her fingers warm and soft against his skin. “Please, darling. Come with us tonight. You’ve been working so hard in Atlantic City, and this situation with Mia has clearly upset you. Let Nathan’s security team handle the house, and let’s enjoy our evening.”
Dominic looked at Claire, then at Nathan. Both of them were looking at him with expressions of profound care, loyalty, and affection.
They thought they had won. They thought that because they had scrubbed the camera footage and framed the narrative, Dominic would fall back on his habits of trust, social propriety, and corporate duty.
They forgot who Dominic Vale was.
“Of course,” Dominic said, offering Claire a faint, terrifying smile. “I wouldn't dream of missing your father’s dinner. Give me two hours to shower and change.”
Claire beamed with delight, kissing his cheek again. “Thank you, my love! I’ll wait for you in the grand parlour!”
She turned and glided out of the room, her silk coat swishing gracefully behind her.
Nathan lingered near the door, his hand resting in his slacks pocket. “Are you sure you’re alright, Dom?”
“I’m fine, Nathan,” Dominic said, picking up his scotch glass. “Just thinking about how much blood it takes to build an empire... and how little it takes to destroy one.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he offered a respectful nod and stepped out into the hall, closing the heavy oak doors behind him.
The moment he was alone, Dominic pulled a secondary, encrypted satellite phone from a hidden compartment under his desk drawer and dialed a ten-digit number.
The call was answered on the first ring.
“Boss?” the deep, gravelly voice of Frank 'The Hammer' Varga—Dominic’s retired head of enforcement—echoed over the line.
“Frank,” Dominic said, his voice cold as a winter grave. “Bring six of your old crew to the estate quiet entrance. Don't use the main gates. Wear black, bring heavy hardware, and do not talk to anyone on my active payroll.”
“Who’s the target, Dom?” Frank asked without hesitation.
May you like
Dominic stared at the crackling fire in the hearth.
“The whole house, Frank,” Dominic whispered. “The rot goes all the way to the foundation.”
