Seven powerful heiresses competed to become his wife, but only the five-foot-four housemaid knew the real secret behind his test.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Caroline Wells chuckled softly under her breath, resting her hand on her four-million-dollar painting. "Adrian, darling, surely you aren't asking the house staff to participate in your family's trial?"

Adrian didn't look at Caroline. His dark, intelligent eyes remained fixed entirely on my face.

"Answer the question, Nora," he commanded softly.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to remain steady, relying on the years of quiet observation that had kept me safe in this house.

"If I were a guest, Mr. Vale," I said, keeping my head slightly bowed, "I suppose I would choose something that couldn't be sold at an auction or stolen by an enemy."

Grant Mercer frowned, his pen hovering over his ledger. "Everything in this house has a price, girl."

"No, sir," I replied, raising my gaze to meet Adrian's. "Some things in this house only have a purpose."

A faint, unreadable shift occurred in Adrian’s expression. The quiet, dangerous calm in his dark eyes deepened into something sharper.

"It is 11:45 PM," Adrian announced to the room, pulling a silver pocket watch from his vest. "Ladies, your selections are recorded. You may wait in the grand drawing room while I make my final assessment."

The seven women drifted away toward the drawing room, whispering among themselves, casting cold, suspicious glances over their shoulders at me.

As soon as the double mahogany doors closed behind them, Adrian turned to Grant.

"Grant, clear the main hall security feed for ten minutes," Adrian ordered.

Grant looked startled. "Adrian? What are you doing?"

"Do it," Adrian commanded.

Grant bowed his head, pulled out his encrypted phone, and keyed in a security override code before stepping out toward the courtyard.

I turned to leave toward the kitchen with my silver tray, but Adrian’s voice stopped me instantly.

"Stay, Nora."

I froze.

Adrian stepped up to the fireplace, reached out to the carved marble lion’s head on the mantelpiece, and pressed a small, recessed brass button hidden within the lion's teeth.

A mechanical click echoed deep within the walls.

The heavy oak paneling beside the service hallway slid back six inches, revealing a narrow, stone-walled staircase descending into the dark foundation of the mansion.

It was the very corridor I cleaned every night between 12:15 and 12:30.

"You knew this passage existed," Adrian said, turning his head to look at me.