Billionaire Fiancée Cut the Poor Maid’s Hair to Destroy Her Dignity—Until the East Coast’s Most Feared Mafia King Broke Down the Gates and Demanded Blood

The grand foyer felt like a courtroom where the sentence had already been passed.

Clarissa began to tremble uncontrollably. The polished, elegant veneer of the internet mogul had completely disintegrated, revealing the terrified, cornered beast beneath.

“You have no proof,” Clarissa snarled, her voice losing all its refined cadence. “You can’t prove anything about Kind Beauty! My lawyers will bury you!”

Dragan allowed a faint, humorless smile to touch his lips.

“Your head of logistics in Rotterdam was arrested two hours ago,” Dragan said calmly. “He gave up your cargo manifests, your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands, and the test results of the toxic stabilizers you’ve been shipping under Hawthorne maritime flags.”

Dragan glanced at Boris.

Boris pulled out a thick satellite phone and tapped the speaker button.

The voice of the United States Federal Trade Commission Chief Investigator filled the room:

“Mr. Kovac, federal warrants have just been unsealed for Clarissa Hawthorne Merrill and the executive board of Kind Beauty Corp on charges of industrial fraud, hazardous distribution, and racketeering. Federal agents are en route to the Long Island bluffs now.”

Boris hung up the phone.

Theodore collapsed into an armchair, burying his head in his hands. “My God... what have I brought into my family’s house? What have I done?”

Clarissa lunged toward Theodore, grabbing his suit lapels. “Theodore! You have to protect me! Use your family’s lawyers! We’re getting married in three weeks! You can’t let them destroy me!”

Theodore looked up at her. The love, admiration, and blind affection he had held for her over the past year had turned to utter revulsion.

He reached down, took her hands, and forcefully peeled her fingers off his suit.

“Get away from me,” Theodore said, his voice cracking with disgust. “Do not touch me.”

Clarissa stumbled backward, her heels catching on the rug.

She looked around the room. Oswald stood near the doorway, his chin held high, staring at her with pure disdain. The other maids and footmen had gathered in the shadows of the hallway, their eyes burning with silent retribution.

Nobody moved to help her.

Nobody spoke a word of sympathy.

Dragan turned his back on Clarissa completely, treating her as if she had already ceased to exist.

He knelt beside Nadia once more.

“Can you stand?” he asked softly.

Nadia looked at this terrifying man—a man the entire city whispered about with dread—and saw only absolute, unwavering protection in his gray eyes.

“I... I think so,” Nadia whispered.