Chapter 3 - Blood on the Mahogany
Rose had just reached the service hallway leading to the staff dispensary when a shadow fell across the tiles.
She spun around, half-expecting Richard Kane to emerge from the darkness.
Instead, Alexander Kane stood in the threshold of the service door.
He had shed his suit jacket.
His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the strong column of his neck.
His sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, exposing the dark geometric ink covering his left forearm.
“You didn’t go to Mrs. Gable,” Alexander stated flatly.
It wasn't a question.
It was a fact delivered with absolute certainty.
Rose pressed her back against the industrial shelving holding spare linens.
“I was on my way, Mr. Kane.”
“You’re leaving a trail of blood on the floor,” he noted quietly.
He stepped into the narrow hallway, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
The space instantly felt suffocatingly small.
Alexander Kane possessed a physical gravity that commanded whatever room he entered.
He didn't look at her with condescension.
His gaze was intense, analytical, and entirely focused on her face.
“Come with me,” he said, turning back toward the stairs.
“Mr. Kane, the staff isn’t permitted in the family suites after hours,” Rose stammered.
“Mrs. Gable made that very clear.”
Alexander paused on the first step and looked back over his broad shoulder.
“Mrs. Gable works for me.”
“And right now, so do you.”
“Move, Rose.”
He didn't wait to see if she obeyed.
He climbed the stairs with long, purposeful strides.
Rose had no choice.
Leaving a trail of red droplets, she followed the master of the house up the winding stairs.
They bypassed the second-floor guest rooms and ascended to the fourth floor—the private domain of Alexander Kane.
The north tower was entirely different from the rest of the ornate mansion.
There were no gilded mirrors or dusty oil paintings here.
The walls were lined with dark charcoal paneling, sleek modern bookshelves, and floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the rain-swept valley.
Alexander walked directly into a spacious private study dominated by a massive black oak desk.
He disappeared through a side door and returned a moment later carrying a black leather medical kit.
“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a leather armchair beside the hearth.
Rose hesitated, looking at her bloodied hands and the pristine leather of the chair.
“I’ll ruin the upholstery, sir.”
Alexander let out an exasperated breath through his nose.
He grabbed a clean linen towel from his kit, threw it over the arm of the chair, and pushed her gently down by the shoulder.
“Sit down and stop apologizing.”
He pulled an ottoman across the rug and sat directly in front of her.
The sight was entirely surreal.
Alexander Kane, a man whose net worth could purchase small nations, was kneeling on an oriental rug holding her trembling, dirty wrist.
He opened the kit with practiced efficiency.
He produced a bottle of antiseptic, sterile gauze, and medical adhesive strips.
“This is going to sting,” he warned quietly.
Before Rose could brace herself, he poured the clear liquid over the deep laceration on her palm.
A sharp, searing fire tore through her hand.
Rose gasped, biting her lower lip so hard she tasted iron to keep from screaming.
Her fingers twitched instinctively, trying to pull away from his grip.
Alexander’s fingers tightened around her wrist like a velvet-lined vice.
He held her hand steady, blowing gently across the raw flesh to cool the burn.
The unexpected tenderness of the gesture shocked Rose more than the pain.
“You didn’t flinch when you hit me in the hallway,” he murmured, his eyes focused entirely on her wound.
“I was terrified, Mr. Kane,” she admitted through clenched teeth.
“You should be,” Alexander said darkly.
He picked up a sterile cotton swab and began cleaning away the remaining crystal dust from the cut.
“My uncle is not a man who forgets loose ends.”
“He told you it was about taxes,” Rose said, watching his steady hands work.
“Richard lies every time he breathes,” Alexander replied without looking up.
“He has spent the last ten years trying to strip away my voting shares in Kane Global.”
He grabbed a strip of butterfly bandage and carefully pulled the edges of the cut together.
“What did you really hear, Rose?”
“I told you in the hall—”
“Don't lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave.
He raised his head, locking his piercing gray eyes directly onto hers.
“Richard does not come out of a room looking like an executioner over estate taxes.”
“Who else was in that room?”
Rose swallowed hard, the memory flashing behind her eyelids.
“There was another man.”
“He sounded nervous.”
“He asked what would happen if you found out about something.”
Alexander’s jaw hardened until the muscles in his cheek ticked.
“Did he mention a place?”
“Zurich,” Rose whispered.
“He mentioned the Zurich accounts.”
Alexander’s hands paused on her bandage for a fraction of a second.
A cold, lethal stillness settled over his entire body.
Rose watched the color drain from his face, replaced by a terrible, white-hot fury that he fought viciously to suppress.
“Zurich,” Alexander repeated, the word tasting like poison on his tongue.
He finished wrapping the white sterile gauze around her palm with tight, neat turns.
He secured the tape and gently placed her hand back in her lap.
“Is that all?” he asked quietly.
Rose hesitated.
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackle of the fireplace and the drumming rain against the glass.
“There was one more thing,” Rose whispered.
Alexander leaned back onto the ottoman, his elbows resting on his knees.
“Tell me.”
“Mr. Richard called me by my name in the hallway.”
Alexander frowned slightly.
“You work in his house.”
“No,” Rose shook her head adamantly.
“I work in your house, Mr. Kane.”
“I’ve only been here eleven days.”
“I’ve never spoken to him.”
“My paperwork isn't even finished in the basement office.”
“And Mrs. Gable told the kitchen staff that your uncle had been in Europe for the entire month.”
Alexander’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
He stood up abruptly, towering over her once more.
He walked over to his massive oak desk and pulled open a sleek laptop.
His fingers flew across the keyboard with rapid, aggressive strokes.
The blue glow of the monitor reflected in the cold planes of his face.
Rose watched him in silence, her heart drumming against her ribs.
After two long minutes, Alexander turned the screen toward her.
It displayed the internal security and staffing logs of the Kane estate.
Rose’s name was listed on the current roster.
Beside her name was an empty gray silhouette where an employee photograph should have been.
Her start date was clearly stamped: eleven days ago.
Alexander scrolled down to the property access logs.
Richard Kane’s digital gate pass had been scanned at the main gate at four o’clock this afternoon.
Prior to that, his pass had not been used on the estate grounds since three weeks before Rose was even hired.
Alexander closed the laptop with a sharp snap that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
He looked at Rose with an expression she couldn't decipher.
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“He didn't learn your name from the staff directory,” Alexander said, his voice deadly quiet.
“Richard knew who you were before you ever walked through my front gates.”
