"She Thought She Was Humiliating a Nobody. The Mafia Boss’s Reaction Proved She Was Deadly Wrong."

Daniel Carver did not look at any of them. His focus was entirely on the trembling woman standing in the center of the room. He adjusted his charcoal suit jacket around Hannah’s shoulders, his touch unexpectedly gentle for a man whose hands had signed death warrants and commanded empires. The wool was warm, carrying the faint scent of rain and expensive sandalwood. It swallowed her small, pregnant frame, acting as an impenetrable armor against the mocking stares of the crowd.

"Daniel, this is absurd," Claire Whitlock hissed, her voice cracking through the silence. She stepped forward, her expensive silk gown rustling, her perfectly manicured fingers trembling with a mixture of rage and humiliation. "She is a maid. She was disrespectful. I was simply establishing order in our home."

Daniel slowly turned his head. His eyes, a cold, steel gray, fixed on his fiancée. The sheer lack of emotion in his gaze made Claire take a half-step back.

"This is my home, Claire," Daniel said, his voice dangerously low. "And nothing happens within these walls without my consent. You are a guest here. Until we are married, you possess no authority to establish anything."

"We are celebrating our engagement!" Claire protested, gesturing to the forty stunned guests. "Your associates are watching you choose a servant over your future wife!"

"I am not choosing," Daniel replied, his tone chillingly calm. "I am correcting a mistake. Martin!"

From the shadows of the arched doorway, Martin Hale, the loyal estate steward, stepped forward immediately. "Yes, Mr. Carver?"

"Call Dr. Mercer. Have him meet us in the west wing immediately. And clear this room."

"Right away, sir."

Claire’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. "You are throwing our guests out? Because of her?"

Daniel ignored her. He looked down at Hannah, whose face was as pale as the white roses decorating the banquet tables. Her hand was pressed hard against her stomach, her fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform.

"Hannah," Daniel murmured, his voice softening in a way that would have shocked the men who feared him on the docks. "Can you walk?"

"I... I think so," she whispered. But as she took a single step, a sharp, white-hot spasm of pain shot through her lower abdomen. Her knees buckled.

Before she could hit the floor, Daniel’s arms were around her. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. The action caused a collective gasp to echo through the ballroom. The cold, ruthless boss of the Providence underworld was carrying a pregnant, disgraced housemaid in his arms, leaving his wealthy fiancée standing alone in the middle of a ruined celebration.

"Daniel!" Claire shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "If you walk out that door with her, we are finished!"

Daniel stopped at the threshold of the grand double doors. He didn't turn around, but his voice carried to every corner of the room.