Max 3rd person POV.
Hi dear readers, this is an extension chapter for the last previous one and I had forgotten to add it, not realizing it cut, I’m so sorry.
The elegant clink of glass echoed faintly in the lavish living room as laughter and whispered conversations filled in. Max had had come here to get rid off his highness only to see Daniel and his mother sitted comfortably chatting Yet, just beyond the opulent walls, down a dimly lit corridor, a scream from Freya had alerted him.
Vivian laid still, her hand flying to her head as pain seared through her skull as she fought to stay awake. Freya dashed in immediately with Ruth in pursuit and stood in front of her, eyes blazing, the shattered remnants of a glass bottle glinting in her hand. The vicious smile on Ruth’s lips faltered as Vivian turned completely pale. Freya swayed, her knees buckling beneath her.
“Oh my God Miss!” Freya screamed, rushing forward just as Vivian laid on the ground, motionless with blood oozing out from her head and staining the floor. Freya’s voice echoed down the corridor, slicing through the silence. Her trembling hands hovered over Vivian, unsure of what to do. The crimson streak on Vivian’s temple spread across her pale skin, a stark contrast to the deep emerald of her evening gown.
“Shut up!” Ruth hissed, her hand darting out to clasp over Freya’s mouth. Her grip was firm, her nails digging into Freya’s cheek. “Do you want everyone to come running? Do you want them to know what you’ve done?”
Freya struggled against her hold, her muffled cries filled with terror.
“What is going on here?”
The commanding voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Ruth froze, her fingers slipping from Freya’s face. Both women turned sharply to see Max standing at the end of the hallway, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him.
Vivian, unconscious on the floor, blood pooling beneath her head. Freya, wide-eyed and trembling, her hands stained with red. And Ruth, still clutching the jagged neck of the broken bottle.
Max’s presence was magnetic, his white polo clinging to his broad frame. His face was carved with authority, but his gaze burned with fury as he strode forward.
“What the hell happened here?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerously sharp.
Ruth recovered first. Dropping the bottle, she stepped toward Max, a performance of innocence already painting her features. “Max, thank God you’re here! You have no idea what just happened-Freya attacked Vivian! She was out of control, I had to step in and stop her!”
Freya’s mouth fell open in shock, her face a mask of disbelief. “That’s a lie!” she cried, her voice cracking. “She-she’s the one who hit her! I would never-”
Ruth whirled around, her voice rising in practiced indignation. “Don’t you dare, Freya! I caught you in the act, and now you’re trying to pin this on me? I can’t believe you’d stoop so low.”
Max’s gaze flicked between the two women, his jaw tightening. His mind raced to make sense of the scene, but his focus kept snapping back to Vivian’s prone figure. His chest tightened at the sight of her lifeless form.
“Enough,” he barked, silencing the escalating argument. He knelt beside Vivian, gently cradling her face in his hand. Her skin was cold to the touch, and the blood matted her hair. A pang of panic he hadn’t felt in years surged through him.
“Call the doctor,” he ordered Ruth without looking up.
“But Max-”
“Now!” he snapped, his voice like thunder.
Ruth flinched but quickly pulled out her phone, her expression tightening into one of barely concealed irritation.
Freya dropped to her knees beside Max, tears streaming down her face. “Please, Sir, you have to believe me,” she pleaded. “I didn’t do this. I-I was trying to protect her.”
Max’s dark eyes met hers, searching her face for a hint of deceit. Freya’s desperation was palpable, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush.
“Miss was just trying to protect me from her and Mrs Ruth… she couldn’t let her walk away. I swear, Sir, I didn’t touch her!”
“Stop lying!” Ruth interjected, her voice shrill. She crouched down beside them, her expression twisted with feigned concern. “Max, you know how impulsive these girls can be. Vivian must’ve confronted her, and things got out of hand. I had to step in to stop her before she hurt her even worse.”
Max rose to his feet, towering over them both. His piercing gaze bore into Ruth, who met his stare with practiced poise.
“Why are you holding a broken bottle, Ruth?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with ice.
Ruth faltered for a split second before recovering. “I grabbed it to protect myself. She was acting crazy, Max! I didn’t have a choice.”
Max’s lips pressed into a thin line as he processed her words. He turned back to Freya, whose tear-streaked face was a picture of despair.
“I’m telling the truth,” Freya whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, Sir. Believe me, I wouldn’t dare hurt her, I can’t hurt her. ”
The weight of the moment pressed down on Max like a storm cloud. He was a man of logic, a man who thrived on evidence and control. But here, in this fractured moment, his instincts waged war against the chaos in front of him.
“Neither of you is going anywhere,” he said finally, his tone brooking no argument. “The security footage will tell me everything I need to know.”
Ruth’s mask slipped for a heartbeat, a flicker of panic flashing across her face. But she quickly recovered, her smile tight. “Of course, Max. That’s a good idea.”
Freya let out a shaky breath of relief, her shoulders sagging. She glanced at Vivian, whose shallow breathing was the only sign of life.
Max pulled out his phone and barked orders into it, summoning the estate’s head of security. Within minutes, two burly guards appeared, their expressions grim.
“Take Ruth and Freya to separate rooms,” Max instructed. “Make sure they don’t leave until I say so.”
“But-” Ruth began, her protest dying in her throat as Max shot her a withering glare.
“No more lies,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a whip as the guards escorted the two women away, Max knelt beside Vivian once more. His fingers brushed against her cheek, his usually steady hands trembling slightly.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the desperation was heavy and for once, his cold eyes dropped