Chapter 2 - Shadows of the HarborThe west wing of the Carver mansion was private, reserved only for Daniel and his closest circle. Hannah had never been allowed here during her five months of employment. Now, she lay on a plush, velvet-covered sofa in a spacious study, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves and the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.
Dr. Mercer, a quiet man who had patched up the syndicate’s worst wounds for two decades, packed his stethoscope back into his leather bag.
"The baby's heartbeat is strong, Daniel," the doctor said, glancing at the quiet man standing by the window. "But the stress has triggered early Braxton Hicks contractions. She needs absolute bed rest, no physical labor, and absolutely no emotional distress. If she experiences any more severe stress, we could be looking at premature labor."
"She will remain here," Daniel said, his back still turned as he stared out into the rain-slicked gardens. "She won't lift a finger. Ensure she has whatever medication or care she needs."
"I will," Mercer nodded. He turned to Hannah, giving her a reassuring smile. "Take it easy, young lady. You're in safe hands."
Once the doctor left, the room fell into a heavy quiet, save for the crackle of the hearth. Hannah tried to sit up, but the weight of Daniel’s jacket, still draped over her, made her realize how small she was in his world.
"Mr. Carver," she began, her voice trembling. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene. I should leave—"
"You are going nowhere," Daniel said. He turned around, his hands slipped into his pockets. He walked over and sat on the edge of the heavy wooden coffee table opposite her. Up close, the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint scar near his left temple made him look intimidating, yet his eyes held an intense, focused curiosity.
"Why did Claire target you?" he asked directly.
Hannah swallowed hard. "She... she claimed I dropped a tray of champagne. But it wasn't an accident. She tripped me, Mr. Carver. And then she said I was eyesore, that my hair made me look like a street rat."
Daniel’s jaw clenched. "Claire is cruel. But she doesn't usually risk my anger for a mere servant. There is more to this, Hannah. Who was the man who left you pregnant and alone?"
Hannah’s breath hitched. She looked down at her hands, her mind racing. Should she tell him? If she revealed who her husband was, she might expose her entire reason for being here. But looking into Daniel's dark, piercing eyes, she knew he would find out anyway.
"My husband was Aaron Brooks," she whispered.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. "The mechanic who died at the Whitlock docks eight months ago."
"Yes," Hannah said, tears welling in her eyes. "They said it was an accident. They said he slipped. But Aaron was careful. He loved this baby before she was even born. He wouldn't have been careless. And the very next day, Thomas Whitlock’s men came to my door. They had a loan document. They said Aaron owed them seventy thousand dollars."
Daniel sat perfectly still, processing her words. "Thomas Whitlock is Claire’s father. His shipping company operates out of my ports. If Aaron owed him seventy thousand dollars, a simple mechanic would have had to be involved in something highly illegal."
"Aaron wasn't a criminal!" Hannah defended fiercely, her voice rising before she remembered who she was speaking to. "He was a good man. I took this job because I wanted to find out the truth. I wanted to know why he died, and why the Whitlocks are holding a fake debt over my head to keep me quiet."
Daniel leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "And what have you found, Hannah?"
"Nothing yet," she admitted, her voice dropping. "But my brother, Caleb Monroe... he vanished two months before Aaron died. He was a bookkeeper. He told me he found hidden accounts. Someone was skimming money from the Carver shipping lines using the Whitlock name. He said the Carvers didn't know."
Daniel’s expression turned utterly lethal. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "You're saying someone is stealing from me, using my own name, and killing anyone who gets close to the books?"
"I think so," Hannah whispered. "And I think Claire knows. That's why she wanted to humiliate me tonight. She wanted to break me so I would run away."
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Daniel stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the brass knob.
"You will stay in the guest suite on this floor," he commanded softly. "No more cleaning. No more hiding. From this moment on, you are not a maid in this house. You are my guest. And if anyone, including Claire Whitlock, attempts to touch a single hair on your head again, they will answer to me."
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