Chapter 8 - The glass throne
Clara ran through the lavish corridors, her breath coming in sharp gasps. The mansion felt entirely different now. It was no longer a place she cleaned; it was a fortress she was fighting to reclaim. She reached Dominic’s office, locking the heavy oak doors behind her just as she heard heavy footsteps in the hall.
She rushed to the bookshelf, pressing the wooden rosette. The hidden panel clicked open. She inserted the brass key, turning it quickly. The heavy bookshelf swung inward, and she slipped into the dark, dusty corridor, pulling the shelf shut behind her.
She navigated the dark passage by memory, pushing open the iron-bound door and stepping into the hidden, golden-lit study. The portrait of her grandmother stared down at her, a silent, powerful guardian.
A heavy, violent thud echoed against the hidden door behind her. Then another.
Celeste hadn't known the combination to the bookshelf, but she had brought a heavy bronze statue from Dominic’s desk. With a final, splintering crash, the old wood gave way. Celeste stumbled into the hidden room, her red gown torn, her hair wild, her fair skin flushed with frantic rage.
She looked at Clara, then up at the massive portrait of Evelyn Bennett.
“It’s a lie,” Celeste hissed, stepping into the room. She noticed the heavy fireplace poker resting on the stone hearth. She lunged for it, gripping the iron rod like a weapon. “You are nothing but a maid! I gave my life to the Carvelli name! I married a man I hated to secure this empire!”
Clara did not back away. The fear that had controlled her for a lifetime suddenly vanished, replaced by the profound, heavy authority of her bloodline. She stood tall, the sapphire necklace glittering on her chest.
“You didn't build this empire, Celeste,” Clara said, her voice steady, possessing an American accent that suddenly sounded just as sophisticated and commanding as any aristocrat. “You stole it from thieves. This house, this wealth, it belongs to my family. You are a guest who overstayed her welcome.”
Celeste screamed, raising the heavy iron poker, and charged at Clara.
Before she could strike, a massive, powerful hand grabbed Celeste’s wrist from behind. The momentum stopped instantly.
Dominic stood in the doorway, his white shirt torn, breathing heavily. He looked like a god of war, intimidatingly composed despite the chaos he had just fought through. He effortlessly twisted Celeste’s wrist, forcing her to drop the iron poker. It clattered loudly onto the stone floor.
Dominic shoved his sister-in-law backward. Celeste collapsed into one of the dust-covered velvet chairs, completely defeated.
Dominic walked over to Clara, checking her for injuries with his dark, intense eyes. Seeing she was unharmed, he turned his full, terrifying attention to Celeste.
“The mercenaries are neutralized,” Dominic said, his voice a low, lethal rumble. “The elders are waiting in the ballroom. You are finished, Celeste.”
Celeste looked up, tears of pure, venomous frustration streaming down her face. “You think you won, Dominic? You think giving this empire to a maid makes you a hero? Your father was a monster! He murdered Evelyn Bennett’s husband to take this land! The Carvelli name is soaked in blood! And you are just as guilty by sitting on the throne!”
Dominic’s expression did not change. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his luxury smartphone. The screen was lit up. It showed an active call.
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“I know my father was a monster,” Dominic said coldly. “That’s why I just broadcasted your entire confession over the ballroom’s sound system. Every syndicate elder, every family boss, just heard you admit to the thefts, the murders, and the lies.”
Celeste’s eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. The glass throne she had killed to sit on had just shattered into a million pieces.
