Chapter 47 - 46 The Princess’s Birthday

Chapter 47: Chapter 46 The Princess’s Birthday

I woke up late.

Not fashionably late.

Not "oops, I slept an extra thirty minutes" late.

I woke up at the kind of hour that made me question whether I had resigned from my job in my sleep.

I shot upright.

"Shit. It’s my daughter’s birthday."

Why did nobody wake me up?

Not even him.

I dragged myself out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, still half asleep.

Then I noticed the box.

It was sitting on the chair near the window.

A large black box.

My name was written across the top.

I stopped.

I stared at it.

Then I looked around the room.

"What the hell?"

I walked over and lifted the lid.

I blinked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. A stunning deep-emerald silk dress, a classic ivory two-piece set, a structured black blazer with matching trousers, and a soft, cream-colored lace gown. Spread out on the dresser next to them were three pairs of heels and a jewelry.

Swarovski? No way!!!

I didn’t need to ask who did it. Nobody else in this house had the audacity—or the budget—to curate my closet like it was a boutique display.

I quickly dressed in the ivory set, pinning on a pair of Swarovski earrings. I could hear high-pitched giggling and music drifting up from the foyer.

I walked down the grand staircase, and the moment I reached the landing, my breath hitched.

The mansion was gone.

"Oh."

That was all I managed.

The entire place had been transformed.

In its place was a five-year-old’s fever dream.

Balloons covered the walls.

There were tables filled with sweets, cakes, chocolates, fruit, pastries and enough juice to keep twenty children awake until Christmas.

A giant birthday cake stood in the middle of the room.

There were princess decorations everywhere.

Staff were scurrying everywhere, dressed not in their usual stiff uniforms, but in colorful, whimsical attire. And actual, professional princess performers wandering through the crowd.

Through the glass doors leading to the back garden, I could see a literal pony—a small, snow-white thing—being led across the lawn by a handler.

There was even a miniature, gold-leafed carriage parked near the rose bushes, looking like it had been plucked straight out of a storybook.

I slowly shook my head.

"This man is insane."

This wasn’t a birthday party. This was what happened when a ruthless billionaire heard the words "I want a princess party" and completely lost his fucking mind.

Anastelle was currently standing in the center of the lawn, wearing a dress so fluffy it looked like a cloud, her eyes wide as she pointed at the pony.

I scanned the room, looking for the architect of this madness.

"Where is he?" I asked, grabbing the arm of a passing security guard. "Where is Laziel?"

The man looked at me, his face impassive. "Mr. Monroe had something to handle, Miss."

Laziel didn’t just walk away from his projects. "What kind of something?"

"I don’t have the details, Miss."

Before I could press him, Anastelle slammed into my knees.

"Mommy! Come! You have to see the pony! It’s real! It’s actually real!" Anastelle grabbed my hand, her face flushed.

She dragged me across the grass, her laughter ringing out across the garden. I let her pull me toward the center of the chaos, weaving through the other children and the performers.

I watched her as she finally reached the white pony, reaching out a tiny, trembling hand to stroke its mane. The princesses were bowing to her, and the staff was hovering, making sure every single detail was perfect for her.

For the first time in a long time, my daughter looked exactly like what she was.

A happy little girl.

I let out a breath, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Fine, I thought. He can play king of the castle all he wants. Today, at least, he got it right.

But then, I glanced back at the mansion entrance. The pony was there. The cake was there. But the man who paid for it all was nowhere to be found.

I realized that whatever Laziel was "handling," it was definitely not on the party itinerary.

Valentina was waiting for him.

Of course she was.

Valentina sat perched on her chaise longue, robe slipping carelessly off one shoulder. She held a glass of deep, blood-red wine, her eyes tracking Laziel’s every move as he stood by the balcony.

She swirled the wine, her voice sultry. "Benvenuto, caro. Mi sei mancato." (Welcome, darling. I’ve missed you.)

Laziel didn’t turn. His silhouette remained immovable, his presence alone sucking the oxygen out of the room.

Valentina let her robe slide lower, her fingers dancing toward the knot at her waist. "Perché sei così distante? Non ti piacciono più le bionde?" (Why are you so distant? Don’t you like blondes anymore?)

She rose, and drifted toward him. She discarded the robe, letting it pool on the floor, but Laziel’s gaze didn’t even flicker toward her. He stared out at the city, his eyes cold enough to freeze the wine in her glass.

Valentina slammed her glass against the wall.

"Basta!" she shrieked. "Cosa ha lei che io non ho? È niente! Non è ricca, non è bella, è solo una sguattera che ti ha incantato!" (Enough! What does she have that I don’t? She’s nothing! She’s not rich, she’s not beautiful, she’s just a scrubber who charmed you!)

Laziel finally turned.

"Stai lontana da lei," (Stay away from her) he said, his voice low.

Valentina laughed, "No. Non starò lontana da quella donna miserabile. La distruggerò. Le toglierò tutto, proprio come ho fatto con le altre." (No. I won’t stay away from that miserable woman. I will destroy her. I will take everything from her, just like I did the others.)

Laziel’s stillness was terrifying. He didn’t shout. He didn’t pace. He simply moved, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

He didn’t touch her—not yet. He loomed over.

"You don’t talk about the woman I’m going to marry."

Valentina froze. Her eyes widened, wild and disbelieving. "Cosa? Sposarla? Sei mio marito! Qualsiasi donna si avvicini a te... la farò a pezzi!" (What? Marry her? You are my husband! Any woman who gets close to you... I will tear her to pieces!)

Laziel’s hand shot out, clamping firmly, irrevocably, around her throat. He didn’t squeeze—not yet—but the threat was absolute. He pinned her back against the balcony doors.

He leaned in, his mouth inches from her ear.

"Do you know why you’re still breathing, Valentina?"

She gasped, clawing at his forearm, her eyes bulging.

"Because I haven’t decided where to bury you yet."

"If so much as a shadow of yours falls across her path again," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her pulse point fluttering beneath his thumb, "you won’t have to worry about the future. Because you won’t have one."