Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Silk
The danger had passed, but the tension inside the grand ballroom remained razor-sharp.
Ethan crossed the marble floor, his long strides taking him past the ruins of the crystal pyramid. As he approached Elena, the hard, predatory edge in his eyes completely vanished, replaced once again by a deep, heavy solemnity.
Elena stood her ground, her posture straight and noble despite the bloody cut on her forehead and the sharp pain radiating down her back.
Ethan stopped two feet away from her.
He looked down at his five-year-old son, who was looking back at him from over Elena’s shoulder with bright, trust-filled blue eyes.
"Is he okay?" Ethan asked softly, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion.
"He doesn't have a single scratch on him, Mr. Vance," Elena replied, her voice smooth, steady, and quiet. "The glass didn't touch him."
Ethan reached out with both hands, gently lifting Noah out of Elena’s arms and settling the boy against his chest. Noah hugged his father’s neck, but kept one small hand extended, resting his fingers lightly on Elena’s shoulder.
With his son secured in his left arm, Ethan looked directly into Elena’s eyes.
He saw the thin stream of crimson blood that had trickled down her temple, pooling near her jawline. He saw the sharp, jagged tearing along the fabric of her black server vest, where heavy glass fragments had sliced through the material to reach her skin.
He realized that if she had hesitated for even half a second—if she had chosen her own safety over a billionaire's child—Noah would be lying in an intensive care unit, or worse.
And yet, his first action had been to shout at her, grab her violently, and throw her onto the broken glass.
The weight of his mistake crushed down on Ethan’s chest like a lead weight.
"You're bleeding," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a rough, strained register.
"It’s just a minor scratch," Elena said quietly, reaching up with her thumb to wipe the blood from her cheek, but wincing slightly as her shoulder movement pulled on the deep bruises across her back.
Ethan saw the small wince. His jaw tightened.
"Marcus," Ethan called out sharply to his senior house butler, who was standing nearby with a silver tray.
"Yes, Mr. Vance?" the butler stepped forward instantly.
"Clear the third-floor private medical suite," Ethan ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Call Dr. Harrison up from the estate clinic immediately. Tell him to prepare a full trauma kit and surgical suture supplies."
May you like
Elena stepped back slightly, raising her hand defensively. "Mr. Vance, please... that isn't necessary. I am just part of the evening catering staff. I can take care of myself in the staff breakroom—"
"You are not going to the breakroom," Ethan interrupted, his hazel eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made her breath catch. "You just took a bullet made of crystal for my son. You are going to my private medical wing, and you are going to be treated by the best physician in this city."
