THE HOUSEKEEPER’S VOW

The silver locket slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a sharp click.

Arthur Aldridge was my father.

I wasn't just a maid. I was the eldest, illegitimate daughter of the Aldridge empire.

And my new husband’s family had murdered him.

I slowly turned my head toward the window. Cassian was standing there, staring out at the rain. His shoulders were rigid. He hadn’t turned around when the locket dropped.

“Did you know?” my voice didn't even sound like my own. It sounded hollow. Dead.

Cassian finally turned. His dark eyes were unreadable, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I didn’t know you were Arthur’s daughter until an hour before the wedding,” Cassian said quietly. “My men found the birth certificate when they were digging into Margaret’s financial leverage over you.”

“But you knew your father killed Arthur.”

Cassian took a slow step forward. “My father was a monster, Lydia. He was a ruthless, paranoid man who eliminated anyone he thought was a threat. Arthur Aldridge owed him millions. When Arthur couldn't pay, my father had him killed.”

He stopped a few feet from me.

“I was eighteen years old when it happened. I hated my father for it. It’s why I left the family for ten years. When I finally came back and took over, I swore I would never run the organization the way he did.”

I looked at him, my mind spinning. “Margaret knew. She knew who I was. That’s why she kept us in that awful cottage. That’s why she made me a maid. I’m the rightful heir to the Aldridge trust, aren't I?”

Cassian nodded slowly. “Since Evelyn was born legitimate, Margaret controlled the assets. But as the eldest, if you ever claimed your birthright, Margaret would lose half of everything she has left. She kept you close, poor, and terrified so she could control you.”

My chest felt like it was caving in. My entire life—the poverty, my mother’s suffering, the endless hours scrubbing floors on my hands and knees—was a manufactured cage designed by Margaret.

And now, I was married to the son of the man who murdered my father.

I looked at my mother. She had fallen asleep, the exhaustion and the medication pulling her under.

“You married me to protect me from her,” I said, looking back at Cassian. “But also to secure your own position. If I claim the Aldridge estate, you control it through our marriage. You get Mia, and you get the empire.”

Cassian’s eyes flashed with a sudden, intense heat.

“I don’t want the Aldridge empire, Lydia. I have enough money to buy Margaret’s estate ten times over.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “I married you because when I looked at you standing at that altar, bleeding in shoes that weren't yours, terrified for your mother… I saw the only innocent person left in this entire twisted game. I married you so Margaret could never hurt you again.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.

“Then what about the others?” I challenged, my voice shaking. “The six wives before me. If you’re such a protector, Cassian, why did they all run? Why are there rumors that you beat them? That you terrified them?”

The room went completely silent.

Cassian stared at me for a long time. The vulnerability that had been in his eyes slowly hardened into a cold, impenetrable wall.

“Follow me,” he said.

He didn't wait for my answer. He turned and strode out of the medical wing.

I hesitated, looking at my sleeping mother, before quickly following him down the long corridor, up the stairs, and into the master study.

Cassian walked behind his massive mahogany desk. He moved a framed painting on the wall, revealing a steel wall safe. He quickly punched in a code. The heavy door clicked open.

He reached inside and pulled out a thick stack of envelopes, bound together with twine.

He threw them onto the desk.

“Read them,” he commanded.

I slowly walked over. The envelopes were worn, postmarked from all over the world. Italy. California. Spain.

I carefully untied the twine and opened the first letter.

Cassian, the new identity worked perfectly. My ex-husband’s private investigators completely lost the trail once I crossed the border. Thank you for the funds. I finally feel safe. — Maria.

I frowned, opening the next one.

Dear Cassian, the surgery was a success. My face is healing. Tell the press whatever you have to about our 'divorce.' Let them think you drove me away. It’s better they fear you than look for me. I owe you my life. — Sarah.

I stopped breathing. I looked up at him.

“They didn’t run from you,” I whispered.

“No,” Cassian said, his voice hard. “Maria’s husband was a politician who beat her to a pulp. Sarah was being stalked by a cartel boss. Elena’s father was going to sell her to a Russian oligarch to pay a debt.”

He leaned his hands heavily on the desk.

“I am a powerful man in a dark world, Lydia. Men fear me. So, when a woman needs to disappear, when she needs absolute protection from monsters the police won't touch… I marry her.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Under my name, nobody can touch them,” Cassian explained. “I give them new identities, new bank accounts, and when they are safely out of the country, I stage a dramatic divorce or a ‘disappearance.’ I let the world think I’m a monster, because a monster’s reputation keeps the real predators away.”

Tears welled in my eyes. I looked down at the letters. Six women. He had saved six women, destroying his own reputation to do it.

“And Evelyn?” I asked softly. “Was she one of them?”

Cassian’s expression turned dark. “No. I told you, Evelyn ran to steal. I thought she was just greedy. But I was wrong.”

He reached into the safe again and pulled out a crumpled boarding pass.

“My men found this in the trash at the private airfield,” Cassian said, handing it to me.

I looked at it. It wasn't a ticket to Costa Rica.

It was a ticket to Chicago.

Under the name: Evelyn Russo.

I gasped. “Russo?”

“Victor Russo,” Cassian said grimly. “The head of the Chicago syndicate. My father’s oldest enemy. The man who actually pulled the trigger on your father, Arthur.”

Cassian rounded the desk, his presence sudden and overwhelming.

“Evelyn didn’t run away from a wedding, Lydia. She defected. She took the trust documents proving Mia’s parentage to Russo. She’s selling the Aldridge estate—and my niece—to my greatest enemy.”

Before I could process the horror of his words, the heavy oak doors of the study flew open.