Chapter 2 - The Price of Disdain
"Dorian, what is the meaning of this?" Celeste’s voice shrilled, breaking the heavy spell over the room. She stepped into his line of sight, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Who cares about some old housekeeper? You're making a scene at your own party! Look at your guests!"
Dorian finally looked at Celeste. The sheer hatred in his eyes made her take a step back.
"Get out," he said.
Celeste froze. "What?"
"Get out of my house. Now," Dorian repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "Grant!"
Grant Whitaker, Dorian’s best friend, stepped forward immediately, his face deadpan. "I'm on it. Security, please escort Miss Arden to her vehicle. Ensure she leaves the property immediately."
"You can't be serious!" Celeste shrieked as two burly men in suits appeared at her sides. "Dorian! We are getting married in three months! My father is investing in your new tech fund! You're choosing a servant over me?!"
"She isn't a servant," Dorian said, his voice echoing with absolute finality. "She is the daughter of the woman who saved my life. And you aren't getting married to anyone in this house. Ever. Grant, cancel the fund. Return every cent of the Arden money by midnight."
The guests gasped. This wasn't just a broken engagement; this was financial warfare. Celeste looked around, desperate for an ally, but the very people who had smiled with her minutes ago turned their heads away. Social exile was instantaneous. Screaming insults, Celeste was firmly escorted out of the ballroom, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind her.
Dorian turned back to Margaret. The harshness vanished from his face, replaced by a raw, overwhelming vulnerability. He walked through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, until he stood right in front of her.
"Four years," Dorian whispered, looking at her uniform, at her hands that had cleaned his house. "You've been here for four years. Why didn't you tell me?"
"My mother made me promise to wait until the moment was right," Margaret said softly, her voice trembling. "She said kindness isn't a receipt. She didn't want you to look at us and see a debt. She wanted you to be ready."
Dorian closed his eyes, a devastating wave of guilt washing over him. He remembered the cold winters, the anonymous pharmacy credits, the clean shop floors. He had searched for that mysterious benefactor for a decade after making his first million, but Elena had used a fake agency name to protect his family's pride. And all this time, her daughter had been dusting his shelves.
"I am so sorry," Dorian choked out, taking her hands. They were cold. He squeezed them tight. "I am so incredibly sorry, Margaret."
He turned to the crowd, his posture regaining its commanding authority. "The party is over. Thank you all for coming. Please leave."
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No one argued. Within twenty minutes, the glittering mansion was emptied of its high-society guests. Only the staff remained, standing quietly in the shadows, watching wide-eyed.
Dorian looked at his house manager. "Gather the staff in the dining room. Pay everyone a triple bonus for tonight's distress. And Margaret..." He looked down at her with a softness that made her heart skip a beat. "Please, come to my study. We need to talk."
