Chapter 2 - Gilded ShacklesThe Ashford Estate was not a home; it was an impenetrable fortress built of stone, steel, and ruthless history.
For three days, Vivien was confined to the east wing on the second floor—a suite of rooms so vast and luxurious it made her South Boston studio look like a closet. The floors were covered in plush Persian rugs; the bed was draped in pure silk; and a massive balcony offered a panoramic view of the estate's private pine forest and high stone perimeter walls.
Yet, despite the gourmet meals served three times a day by silent servants and the high-end maternity clothes filling the massive walk-in closet, Vivien felt like a golden bird locked in a titanium cage.
Guards stood at every corner of the hallway. Marcus Webb—Dominic’s right-hand man—was constantly present outside her door, his quiet, formidable presence a relentless reminder that escape was an impossibility.
On the third evening, the heavy oak door opened, and Dominic walked in.
He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, corded muscles and a faint, jagged scar running up his wrist. He looked exhausted, the dark shadows beneath his gray eyes hinting at sleepless nights.
In his hand, he carried a heavy silver tray holding a bowl of warm broth and a fresh ultrasound printout.
"You haven't eaten your dinner," Dominic said flatly, setting the tray on the marble coffee table near the fireplace.
Vivien sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She looked up at him, her dark eyes flashing with unyielding defiance. "I told your staff I'm not eating until you let me speak to my sister."
Dominic scoffed quietly, sitting in the armchair across from her. "Madison?"
"Yes, Madison!" Vivien snapped. "She’s my only family! She’s probably frantic wondering where I am!"
Dominic pulled a sleek black tablet from his back pocket and tossed it onto the table between them. "Your sister isn't frantic, Vivien. She’s currently vacationing in Saint-Tropez on a private yacht funded by the Moretti family."
Vivien froze. "What?"
"The Morettis are our primary rivals in the North End," Dominic explained, his tone devoid of all emotion. "Six weeks ago, Madison intentionally invited you to her wedding at the Crane Estate because she was offered fifty thousand dollars by Silvio Moretti to place a vulnerable woman in my path."
The room seemed to tilt beneath Vivien. The cold air rushed out of her lungs. "No... Madison wouldn't... she's my sister..."
"Madison owes three hundred thousand dollars to illegal gambling dens in Atlantic City," Dominic revealed coldly. "She used you as bait. She hoped you would gather intelligence on me, or at the very least, give the Morettis leverage over my personal life. The night we spent together wasn't a random miracle, Vivien. It was an orchestrated setup."
Tears spilled over Vivien's lashes, hot and bitter against her pale cheeks. The crushing betrayal hit her harder than any physical blow. Her own sister—the only family she had left—had traded her like a pawn on a chessboard.
"She didn't know I would fall pregnant," Vivien whispered, her voice breaking into a ragged sob. "She didn't know about the triplets..."
Dominic watched her tears fall, his expression hardening, but his eyes softened slightly as he picked up the ultrasound printout from the tray. He slid onto the sofa beside her.
He didn't touch her, but his presence was a heavy, grounding force against her despair.
"No, she didn't know," Dominic agreed softly, his thumb gently smoothing over the glossy paper showing the three tiny, flickering heartbeats. "And neither did Silvio Moretti. But now they do. Yesterday morning, a hit squad was sent to that clinic to abduct you before my men arrived. If I hadn't intercepted you, you and these babies would be in a basement in Chicago right now, being used to force my surrender."
Vivien looked down at the ultrasound picture resting between his large, scarred fingers. Three little spots in a sea of gray. Three lives that were completely innocent of the dark, violent world surrounding them.
"So what happens to us?" she asked softly, looking up into his storm-gray eyes. "Are we your captives forever?"
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Dominic reached out, his warm, rough thumb catching a tear as it slid down her cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, sending a sudden, intoxicating rush of warmth through her body.
"You are not my captive, Vivien," Dominic promised softly, his gaze locking onto hers with absolute authority. "You are my responsibility. And as long as I draw breath, no one touches my family."
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