Chapter 3 - The Man at the Door
Mrs. Hargrove pressed one finger to her lips.
Dalia stood behind the flour shelves, trembling so violently she feared the jars would rattle. Outside the pantry, Enzo Fiero moved through the kitchen with the careless confidence of a man who had never been told no by anyone too weak to survive the conversation.
“Dalia,” he called again. “Pretty name. Old-fashioned. Almost innocent.”
Bobby growled.
Enzo laughed. “Easy, beast. I’m family.”
The dog’s growl deepened.
Mrs. Hargrove unlocked the pantry and stepped out before Dalia could stop her.
“Mr. Enzo,” the housekeeper said, cold as silver. “Staff are not available after hours.”
“I’m not asking staff. I’m asking for one maid.”
“She is asleep.”
“No, she isn’t.”
Silence.
Dalia closed her eyes.
Enzo’s voice lowered. “You old women always think loyalty makes you brave. It doesn’t. It only makes you useful until someone decides you aren’t.”
Mrs. Hargrove did not answer.
Then Bobby barked so loudly the pantry door shook.
A second later, Rowan’s voice cut through the kitchen.
“Step away from her.”
Dalia’s eyes opened.
Enzo’s tone changed instantly. The charm did not disappear, but it thinned.
“Cousin. You’re dramatic tonight.”
“I said step away.”
Dalia heard the soft scrape of shoes on tile.
Mrs. Hargrove spoke. “Mr. Fiero, the girl is frightened.”
“That does not answer why my cousin is hunting her through my kitchen.”
Enzo laughed. “Hunting? She’s staff. I wanted coffee.”
“The coffee machine is not inside her bedroom.”
Another silence, longer this time.
Dalia could picture them: Rowan standing still, Enzo smiling, Mrs. Hargrove between them, Bobby ready to tear through bloodline and etiquette alike.
Enzo finally said, “You really think everyone wants what belongs to you.”
“No,” Rowan replied. “Only people who stand too close to things they cannot afford.”
A chair moved.
Enzo’s voice became softer. “Careful, Rowan. One day you’ll turn around and realize all the people you suspect are the only people you have left.”
“Then I will still have better company than you.”
Footsteps retreated.
A door opened, then shut.
Only then did Mrs. Hargrove return to the pantry.
“Come out.”
Dalia stepped into the kitchen and found Rowan watching her.
He had removed his jacket. His sleeves were rolled to the forearm. Rain darkened his hair at the temples, and there was a thin cut across his knuckles.
Dalia stared at it.
Rowan noticed. “It is not mine.”
That did not comfort her.
Bobby moved to her side again. Rowan looked down at the dog, then back at Dalia.
“What did you hear?”
Mrs. Hargrove said, “She heard enough.”
Rowan did not take his eyes off Dalia. “I asked her.”
Dalia’s throat tightened.
“I heard Daniel Marsh’s name.”
Rowan’s expression did not move, but the room changed.
“He is connected to you?”
Dalia nodded.
“How?”
She could not answer.
Not with Mrs. Hargrove standing there. Not with Bobby’s warm weight against her leg. Not with Rowan Fiero looking at her as if lies had shapes and he could already see hers forming.
Rowan spoke more quietly.
“Did he send you here?”
“No.”
“Did he know you were coming here?”
“No.”
“Were you involved in his business?”
“No.”
“Were you sleeping with him?”
The question struck like a slap.
Mrs. Hargrove inhaled sharply. “Mr. Fiero.”
Dalia lifted her chin.
“Yes.”
Rowan accepted the answer without judgment, which somehow hurt more.
“Are you still loyal to him?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
“Yes.”
“Are you carrying his child?”
The kitchen vanished.
For one impossible second, there was only the sound of rain against the windows and Dalia’s heart breaking inside her chest.
Mrs. Hargrove turned away.
Dalia whispered, “How did you know?”
Rowan looked at Bobby.
“He did.”
Dalia covered her stomach with both hands.
Rowan’s gaze softened by a fraction. Not pity. Something more dangerous. Recognition.
“Does Marsh know?”
“No. I left before I knew.”
“Good.”
“That is not what this is.”
“No,” Rowan said. “It is the only good thing in this room.”
Dalia stared at him.
He moved to the far counter and poured a glass of water. He set it down near her but did not come close enough to make her step back.
“You are not safe here.”
A bitter laugh escaped her. “I came here because I thought this house was the safest place I could disappear.”
“It is. From ordinary men.”
“And Daniel Marsh is not ordinary?”
“Daniel Marsh is a climber standing on a pile of knives. That makes him dangerous. My family is worse because they know where all the knives are buried.”
Dalia’s eyes burned.
“Your uncle said if I appeared, I would not leave breathing.”
Rowan’s head turned slowly toward Mrs. Hargrove.
She nodded once.
The cut on Rowan’s knuckle opened again. Blood welled bright against his skin.
He did not look down.
“Then you will not appear,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means from tonight on, you do not work upstairs. You do not answer when called. You do not leave the staff wing alone. You do not attend appointments without my driver.”
Dalia stepped back. “No.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed.
“No?” he repeated.
“I have spent months being moved by dangerous men who decide what is best for me in rooms where I am not allowed to speak. I am not doing it again.”
Mrs. Hargrove looked horrified.
Rowan was silent.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It was faint. Almost invisible. But it was real enough to unsettle her.
“Good,” he said.
Dalia blinked. “Good?”
“If you had agreed too quickly, I would assume Marsh trained you to survive by obedience. That kind of fear makes people predictable.”
“I am not predictable.”
“No,” Rowan said. “You are pregnant, hunted, exhausted, and still arguing in my kitchen at midnight.”
He picked up a towel and wrapped it around his bleeding hand.
“That may keep you alive.”
Dalia looked at him for a long moment.
May you like
Then she said, “And what will keep you alive?”
For the first time, Rowan Fiero looked away first.
