The Vow at Dawn

Brooke forced a fragile, wounded laugh, blinking back moisture that she summoned on command. It was her finest theatrical trick.

“Dom, please. I’m stressed. The wedding is in four days, half the caterers are threatening to strike over supply chain issues, and your sister has been treating me like an intruder in my own future home. Of course I didn't mean it that way. I just want everything to be perfect for us.”

She leaned up, pressing her lips against his cheek. He smelled of rain, expensive cedarwood, and cold air. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t kiss her back either.

“Go back to bed, Brooke,” Dominic said evenly. “I have matters to attend to in the study.”

“You’ll come up soon?”

“Soon.”

She hesitated, weighing her options. Pushing further right now would look defensive. Better to retreat, regroup with Julian, and figure out how much of her conversation he had actually overheard. She offered a tight, understanding smile, smoothed the front of her robe, and walked out of the pantry without looking at Emma.

As soon as the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, Dominic turned his attention back to the maid.

Emma was still standing by the sink, her hands gripping the edge of the porcelain so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Emma,” Dominic said.

“Mr. Mercer.”

“How long?”

Emma looked up, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and long-suppressed fury. “How long has she been treating your family like this?”

“Since I proposed,” Dominic replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “Or longer?”

“Since the ring went on your finger, sir. The moment you leave for New York or London, the masks come off. She calls Natalie a parasite behind her back. She’s threatened to cut off Noah’s medical allowance for the private tutors. And that folder—” Emma pointed a trembling finger at the leather binder. “She didn’t draft that lawyer. Her brother Julian did. They’ve been quietly auditing the trust accounts for three months.”

Dominic didn’t curse. He didn’t slam his fist against the wall. He simply reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a gold-plated fountain pen, and tapped it twice against his palm.

“My mother’s trust is sealed by federal magistrate order,” Dominic said softly. “Julian couldn't access those routing numbers without an internal password.”

“Or,” Emma whispered, “without someone on your financial team giving it to him.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened. He turned on his heel and walked out of the pantry, his long strides eating up the distance toward the grand mahogany staircase.

He didn't go to the master suite. Instead, he headed down the dark, wood-paneled corridor of the north wing toward his private study—a room wrapped in historical security protocols, biometric locks, and encrypted servers that connected directly to his downtown holding firm, Mercer Capital.

When he reached the heavy oak door of the study, he noticed something strange.

The brass keyhole had a microscopic smudge of graphite around its edge. Someone had been trying to impression the tumblers.

Dominic inserted his thumb into the biometric scanner. The green light flashed twice, then turned a sharp, warning amber.

*Access Denied. Override Code Required.*