Chapter 2 - The Widow's Secrets
The private quarters of Daniel Carver were off-limits to everyone, including the housekeeping staff. Hannah had spent five months cleaning the lower floors, but she had never seen the inside of the master wing. It was a sanctuary of dark mahogany, deep velvet, and a massive fireplace that crackled with a warm, amber flame.
Daniel laid her gently on the massive leather sofa, immediately pulling a soft cashmere throw over her legs. He knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her but not touching, as if afraid she might break.
"The doctor is on his way," he said, his voice rough. "Are you in pain? Did she hurt you?"
Hannah shook her head, though her hands were still shaking. She pulled his charcoal jacket tighter around her shoulders, finding a strange comfort in his scent. "The baby... the baby kicked. I think she was scared. But I'm okay. I just... my hair."
She reached up, her fingers brushing the jagged, blunt edge where her long braid had once been. The loss was a physical ache. That braid had been the last thing her husband, Aaron, had touched before he was killed.
Daniel’s eyes softened, a deep, sorrowful look crossing his features. "I am sorry, Hannah. I should have stopped it sooner. I should have known Claire would target you."
"Why did you do it, Daniel?" Hannah whispered, her eyes searching his dark, guarded face. "You just threw away a fifty-million-dollar alliance. You ruined your reputation with the council. For a maid."
Daniel stood up, walking over to the fireplace. He stared into the flames, his shoulders broad and tense.
"You are not just a maid, Hannah. And I know exactly why you are here."
Hannah’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at his back. "What do you mean?"
Daniel turned around, holding a heavy manila folder. He walked back to her and laid it on the coffee table.
"Five months ago, you applied for a housekeeping position under a false name. You claimed to be Hannah Miller, a widow from Boston. But you are Hannah Brooks. Your husband, Aaron Brooks, was an auditor for the Whitlock shipping firm. He died in a 'hit-and-run' six months ago. And your brother, Caleb, went missing three weeks after that."
Hannah pulled the cashmere throw tighter, feeling suddenly exposed. "If you knew, why did you let me stay? Why didn't you throw me out?"
"Because Aaron was working for me," Daniel said quietly.
The revelation hit Hannah like a physical blow. She sat up, her eyes wide. "What? Aaron was an auditor. He didn't have anything to do with the underworld."
"He didn't want to," Daniel explained, sitting in the armchair opposite her. "But he found a massive discrepancy in the Whitlock shipping manifests. Someone was using my docks to smuggle high-grade narcotics and weapons into the state—things I strictly forbid in my territory. Aaron brought the ledgers to me. He wanted to do the right thing. But before we could act, his car was run off the road."
"Arthur Whitlock," Hannah whispered, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place. "He killed Aaron."
"And when your brother, Caleb, tried to find the files Aaron had hidden, he vanished," Daniel added. "I’ve been looking for Caleb for four months, Hannah. I let you stay because I hoped you would find something in my house that I missed. But tonight, Claire realized you were getting too close."
Hannah looked down at her hands, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. "I just wanted to find my brother. I have nothing left, Daniel. Just Caleb... and this baby."
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Daniel reached out, his large, warm hand covering hers. His grip was firm, grounding her.
"You have me," he said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "And I protect what is mine."
