Chapter 34

The silent auction is wrapping up as I excuse myself from the table and head back to my room to use the bathroom and freshen up my makeup. The wistful strains of the violin accompanied by the soulful notes of the cello fade into silence as I make my way up the grand staircase. I hear Silas’s faint barking in one of the guest rooms where a pet sitter is looking after him.

The ferocious storm continues to batter the estate, the windows shaking from the onslaught as the icy tendrils of the elements seep in through the gaps under the windowsills. Shivering, I quicken my steps to the bedroom.

I complete my business in the bathroom and attempt to fix my elegant updo, which has dislodged as I moved about the ballroom socializing with guests, taking photos for the press, and performing other duties as the mistress of the house.

Sighing, I stare at my hair in the mirror, realizing there’s no way I can fix this quickly. I pull out the pins and let the silky black waves fall over my shoulders.

This will have to do .

My eyes snag on the locket lying over my heart. The necklace has me transfixed ever since I laid eyes on it and I usually wear it every day. I wish Maxwell could put it on me himself. It’d be more meaningful that way, having the man who occupies your heart put on a piece of jewelry that symbolizes eternal love.

I open the locket, admire the silhouette of a woman’s face, and read the elegant inscription again :

To E,

Upon you, my dearest, my love rests for eternity and beyond, for anything less would be insufferable.

Your servant,

S.

A twinge of melancholy snakes its way inside my chest and I close the locket, wishing it would imbue me with the same type of love in the inscription.

Ardent. Everlasting. Eternal.

Then I think of him, Maxwell, his brooding eyes, a soul I can spend a lifetime exploring and not reach the bottom of its depths.

And I wish…

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I wish he’d feel a fraction of what the giver of the locket felt for the woman he calls his dearest.

Blowing out a breath, I dispel my gloomy thoughts and leave my room to go back to the ballroom. A sudden chill sifts through the air when I reach the staircase, and I take two steps at a time—cardio will warm up the body. As I make a turn to the ballroom, a hand reaches out and grabs my arm tightly.

“What on earth?” I turn toward the person who has pulled me to a stop.

Ugh. My asshole boss. Darn it. I forgot my parents allocated a spot to him at the McKenzie Atelier table.

My stomach turns and I try to shake my arm free. “Gordon, let go of me right now.”

He laughs, a cruel mocking sound drawing the attention of a few ball goers who are lingering outside the ballroom. He lets go of me. “I see being married to an Anderson has gone to your head.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “What do you want?” He reeks of alcohol.

He tsks. “Just wanted to see how the design collection is going. Is it going to be as pathetic as the one you showed me last time?” I’m still finishing up my final revised designs and haven’t submitted them yet.

“If you give someone shit to work with, they can only come up with more shit, Gordon.” I give myself an inner high five for not flinching when I curse, because if there’s anyone who deserves curse words, it’s the man in front of me.

“Why don’t you run to mommy and daddy dearest and tell them you give up before you run the company into the ground?”

“Never.”

“Imagine being so stupid and stubborn you don’t know when to quit.”

I straighten and meet his glare head on. “There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me give up my position at McKenzie’s. Just like there’s nothing you can do that’ll make my parents give you our family business. You may fool everyone with your fake smiles and compliments, but you aren’t fooling me. And the moment I take control of the company, you’re the first person I’ll fire. So why don’t you do us all a favor and quit now before you run the company my grandpa created to the ground?”

“You bitch ,” he yells and a few bystanders gasp. Then, I see several flashes of white light.

Dang it, the paparazzi.

Fury burns inside me, the inferno threatening to swallow me whole, but I fake a smile instead. I won’t let him make a fool out of me and win. That’s probably his game, anyway .

“Excuse me, Gordon, I have to go back to the ball I’m hosting with my husband. I don’t have time for your petty and meaningless mind games.”

Spinning around, I walk toward the ballroom when he chuckles behind me.

“You don’t have the talent to make it, so you’re sleeping your way up the food chain, huh? Man, I wish I were a woman and I could do the same. Find a rich, powerful husband, and poof , all my worries would disappear.”

More shocked gasps echo in the foyer and heat rushes to my face. Curling my fist, I turn around, needing to give this man a piece of my mind, and maybe a knuckle sandwich—

“Apologize to her.”

The deep, quiet voice promises blood and violence, and my breathing quickens.

Maxwell steps out of the shadows in the corridor, his jaw locked, lips twitching in fury as he slowly stalks toward Gordon.

“Apologize at once,” he rasps again, his footsteps measured.

“I…I…” Gordon stutters. The lecher backs up slowly, clearly sensing someone whose control is about to snap.

Maxwell continues stalking toward him until he’s backed up against the wall.

Gordon swallows, his pale face flushed red, and he tries to stand on tiptoes, a poor effort to appear taller than Maxwell, who towers over him by half a foot.

“I’m an artist who is uncompromising in my beliefs and I’m saying the truth. Nepotism is disgusting and you won’t silence me.”

Maxwell growls and fists Gordon’s shirt, dragging it up until he lifts Gordon off the ground.

“How dare you disrespect her in our home at our party?” His voice is a lethal whisper and his fists clench the shirt tighter. Gordon dangles midair, the sniveling idiot turning redder and sputtering .

“How dare you fucking disrespect my wife !” Maxwell roars and the music inside the ballroom stops.

Flashes of bright lights erupt as the paparazzi have a field day.

I know I should stop him, should remind him people are watching and anything he says and does will be splashed all over the front pages tomorrow.

But I don’t.

Instead, my heart careens off a cliff. The burning rage inside me blazes into a sweltering hellfire of too many emotions to name. I want to pull him away, to kiss him, to hug him, to crawl all over him in appreciation for how he’s standing up for me.

The madman. The frigid king.

My frigid king. Beautiful scars and all.

“I don’t care if you’re the president of the fucking world. If you don’t apologize to my wife right now, I won’t be held responsible for choking you to death.”

He leans in so no one can hear him but Gordon and me. “And I can do it, make you disappear, and no one will ever know.”

A sharp heat travels to my clit and my core clenches as I take in Maxwell, his eyes wild and fevered, his biceps still bunched and flexed, barely shaking from holding up Gordon by the collar of his shirt.

“Maxwell,” I finally find my voice. “D-Don’t. Don’t do this, not in front of everyone. Not for him.”

Maxwell looks at me, his eyes flashing, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “I won’t let anyone disrespect you.” He turns back to Gordon. “Apologize. Now.”

Gordon, finally coming to his senses, grabs Maxwell’s hands and utters, “S-Sorry, B-Belle. I’m s-sorry.”

Grunting, Maxwell throws Gordon against the wall and a few guards step in and haul the asshole out of the hallway.

Melody walks around the foyer, her mouth opened in apparent shock as she ushers the guests back into the ballroom. Morris frowns at us, his eyes radiating disapproval and anger as he spins around and heads toward the east wing. Agnes furrows her brows and shakes her head at me, as if I displeased her. She then follows Melody and helps direct the paparazzi back into the room.

But I know the damage to Maxwell’s image is already done.

“Annabelle! That was completely embarrassing!” Dad stalks toward me from the entrance of the ballroom and my heart sinks. I really don’t want to deal with him right now. “Everyone heard your argument with Gordon in there! What were you thinking—”

“I wouldn’t continue that sentence if I were you.” Maxwell’s voice comes out as a low rasp. “I don’t care if you are my father-in-law. Anyone fit to be called a father should first care about his daughter’s well-being over anything else after that asshole harassed her.”

A lump forms in my throat as I drag my attention to my husband, who is glaring at my dad with murder in his eyes. He’s defending me again—fighting for me when no man has ever done so before in my life.

“Maxwell, y-you s-see, I—”

“No. I don’t see. And I don’t care. Go, before I give you the same treatment I gave to Gordon.” He points his finger toward the ballroom, his body vibrating with intensity.

Dad sputters, his lips twitching, but he’s clearly intimidated by Maxwell because he spins away and stomps back into the ballroom.

I turn to Maxwell, wanting to thank him, to kiss him, to yell at him because what happened just undid everything he worked so hard for.

“Maxwell.” I reach for him, my hand shaking.

His stare is mutinous as he swiftly brushes my hand away. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Without another word, he spins around and stalks off, leaving me reeling and completely stupefied.