Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Ledger
The third-floor medical suite of the Rossi mansion looked more like a private hospital wing than a room in a residence. State-of-the-art diagnostic equipment hummed softly in the corner, and the smell of antiseptic hung faintly in the air.
Dr. Alistair Vance, a retired combat surgeon who had traded battlefield triage for the exorbitant salaries of the East Coast elite, worked quickly under the bright halogen lights. He gently swabbed the cut along Skylar’s cheekbone with a saline solution.
Skylar hissed through her teeth, her hands gripping the edges of the examination table until her knuckles turned white.
"Easy, child," Dr. Vance murmured, his voice rumbling like a comforting bass note. "You’ve got a nasty split there. Miss Moretti wears rings that could cut glass. You’re lucky it missed your eye."
"I'm fine," Skylar muttered, staring fixedly at the stainless-steel tray of instruments to avoid looking at the man standing silently in the corner of the room.
Dominic Rossi stood by the window, watching the rain begin to streak the reinforced glass. He had discarded his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to reveal forearms corded with muscle and faint, jagged scars—remnants of a life before he inherited his father’s empire. He hadn’t spoken a word since carrying her upstairs, but he hadn't left the room either.
Carmela sat in a plush armchair nearby, having finally been calmed by a cup of chamomile tea prepared by one of the junior housekeepers. Her eyes drifted shut, exhaustion finally overtaking her.
"Well," Dr. Vance said, applying a sterile butterfly bandage and a layer of medical adhesive to Skylar’s cheek. "No concussion, though you’re going to have a magnificent bruise by morning. You'll need to take a few days off kitchen and heavy cleaning duty."
"I can't take days off, Doctor," Skylar said quickly, panic flaring in her chest. "My shifts—my pay—"
"Your pay will continue uninterrupted," a deep voice interrupted.
Skylar turned her head, wincing, to look at Dominic. He hadn't turned away from the window.
"Mr. Rossi, I can't accept money I didn't earn," Skylar protested, her pride momentarily overriding her terror of him. "I broke a tea set last week, and I dropped the silver tray today. I'm clumsy. I know I'm not the best maid you have—"
"You are not a maid anymore starting tonight," Dominic said, turning around to face her.
Skylar blinked. "What?"
"Effective immediately, you are reassigned," Dominic said, walking slowly toward the examination table. His dark eyes locked onto hers with unsettling clarity. "You are my mother’s primary caregiver and executive assistant of the domestic staff. Your salary is quadrupled. Full medical benefits for your immediate family are effective as of this morning."
The air left Skylar’s lungs for the second time that day. "My... my father’s medical bills? The dialysis—"
"Paid in full through the end of the year, managed by my corporate legal team," Dominic said smoothly. He stopped just a foot away from her. The sheer presence of him made the room feel suddenly smaller. "In exchange, you will answer one question honestly."
Skylar swallowed hard, her throat dry. "What question?"
"Why did you do it?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You know who Bianca is. You know what my family represents. You knew stepping into the path of that hand would cost you your job, if not worse. Why risk your life for an old woman who barely remembers her own son’s name on most days?"
The room went dead silent. Dr. Vance quietly packed his instruments into his silver case, slipped out of the room, and closed the heavy oak door behind him, leaving them alone.
Skylar looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. The harsh fluorescent lights caught the fraying hem of her maid’s uniform. For months, she had lived in the background of this terrifying mansion, invisible to everyone except the woman who was slowly losing her mind.
"Because elegance isn't worth anything if you don't have a heart," Skylar whispered, repeating the words Carmela had told her weeks ago in the pantry. She looked up, meeting Dominic’s piercing gaze without flinching. "Mrs. Rossi didn't care that I broke things. She didn't laugh at me when I tripped over the rug. When everyone else in this house looked at me and saw a fat, clumsy maid who didn't belong, she saw a person. And nobody deserves to be struck, Mr. Rossi. Not an old woman. Not anyone."
Dominic stood motionless. The seconds stretched out, agonizingly long, until the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour.
A slow, terrifyingly subtle shift occurred in Dominic Rossi’s expression. It wasn't a smile—men like Dominic didn't smile easily. It was an acknowledgment. A realization that beneath the clumsy exterior and the broken china beat a core of unbreakable steel.
"My mother has good taste," Dominic said softly. He reached out, his warm fingers brushing a stray strand of brown hair away from Skylar’s uninjured cheek, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "Get some rest, Skylar. Tomorrow, we restructure the household."
May you like
Before Skylar could formulate a reply, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her alone with the hum of the medical equipment and a heart beating wildly against her ribs.
***
