Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips
Vivienne blinked, her immaculate face twisting in shock and wounded pride. “Adrian? What are you talking about? She’s just a hired caterer! Why are you looking at her like—?”
“I said, get out,” Adrian repeated, every syllable clipped like a razor. “And if I ever see you cross the threshold of this estate again, your family’s shipping contracts with Falkner Global will be terminated before midnight.”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Vivienne’s face drained of color; her status as a Falkner bride was her entire identity in Manhattan high society. Gathering the remnants of her dignity, she glared daggers at Helena, spun on her heel, and stormed out toward the grand foyer, her closest sycophants scrambling in her wake.
Helena remained frozen. Her chin stayed high, but her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She didn't want charity. She didn't want pity from a man whose name was synonymous with ruthless corporate dominance. She reached down to pick up a piece of broken glass, but a large, warm hand suddenly closed gently over hers.
“Don't touch that,” Adrian said softly.
Helena looked up. Up close, his dark eyes were turbulent, swirling with an intensity that terrified her far more than Vivienne’s cruelty. There was recognition in his face—a deep, burning realization that defied all logic.
“Mr. Falkner,” Helena said, her voice tight. “If you’re going to fire me, just say so. But I won't apologize for refusing to take the blame for someone else’s malice.”
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“You’re not fired, Miss Vale,” Adrian replied, his voice unexpectedly gentle, though his jaw was locked tight. He unbuttoned his heavy, custom-tailored suit jacket, slid it off his shoulders, and wrapped it carefully around Helena’s torn uniform, completely covering the exposed scar. “In fact, your shift ended the moment you walked into this house. Come with me.”
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