It was six o'clock in the evening. Outside, the storm was raging. Lightning flashed across the sky. The entire staff was in a panic, preparing for the arrival of the new heir, Kearney Bernard.

Barnaby, a senior footman, stood on top of a tall wooden ladder in the grand foyer. He was polishing the massive crystal chandelier. His legs were shaking from exhaustion.

Emmett walked past the ladder, carrying a bucket of water. He glanced up. He saw Barnaby's knees trembling.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the windows. A second later, a massive crack of thunder shook the floorboards.

Barnaby screamed. He panicked and stepped backward. His foot missed the wooden rung. He fell backward into empty space. Emmett's body instinctively surged forward, his hand reaching out to catch the falling man. But the distance was too great, and the heavy bucket in his hand threw off his balance. He watched, a cold sliver of guilt piercing his chest, as Barnaby hit the hard marble floor.

A loud, sickening crack echoed through the foyer. Barnaby grabbed his leg and screamed in agony. His shin bone was broken.

Elias ran into the foyer. He looked at Barnaby writhing on the floor. Elias's face turned purple with rage. "You useless fool! The dinner service is in an hour!"

Security guards ran in and dragged Barnaby away.

Elias rubbed his temples. He looked around wildly at the terrified lower servants. They needed a senior footman to pour the wine tonight. It was a critical job.

Elias's eyes locked onto Emmett. Emmett was standing perfectly still, holding his bucket. He looked completely calm.

"You," Elias pointed a shaking finger at Emmett. "Go to the locker room. Put on Barnaby's tailcoat. You are serving the wine tonight."

Rory gasped. He looked at Emmett with pure, hateful jealousy.

Emmett didn't smile. He just bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later, Emmett stood in front of the mirror. He wore the black tailcoat of a senior footman. The custom tailoring fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist perfectly. He pulled the crisp white silk gloves over his hands. He looked like a predator putting on a disguise.

A deep engine roar rumbled outside. A black, custom-built motorcar pulled up to the front doors.

Emmett walked into the foyer. He stood in line with the senior staff. He was positioned right next to the front door.

The car door opened. A man stepped out onto the red carpet.

Baron Kearney Bernard walked into the manor.

He was tall. His shoulder muscles were coiled tight, like a beast of prey ready to strike. He wore a dark, expensive wool coat. His skin was pale. His dark eyes were angry, paranoid, and completely hostile. He looked at the crystal chandelier like he wanted to smash it.

Viscount Corbin stepped forward. He forced a huge, fake smile onto his face. He opened his arms for a hug.

Kearney didn't stop walking. He shifted his shoulder and completely ignored the Viscount's arms.

"I don't care about your rules," Kearney said. His voice was deep, rough, and freezing cold. "Show me my room."

The Viscount's smile froze. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Clara immediately stepped forward. She put on her sweetest, most vulnerable smile.

"Brother Kearney," Clara said softly. "You must be so tired."

Kearney didn't even look at her face. His eyes moved past her.

His dark eyes locked onto Emmett.

Emmett was standing with his head bowed. But he felt the heavy, burning stare hit his skin. It felt like a physical weight.

The memories of his past life rushed in like a tidal wave. This was the man he had foolishly betrayed, the man who had died because of his blind ignorance. A suffocating grip of guilt seized Emmett's heart. Emmett's fingers curled tightly inside his white gloves.

Kearney stared at Emmett for three agonizing seconds. The silence in the room was deafening.

Then, Kearney pointed a long finger at Emmett.

"Him," Kearney commanded. "He will show me my room."

The Viscount gasped. Clara's sweet smile cracked. They couldn't believe the new heir was choosing a servant over them.

Emmett cursed in his head. He didn't want this. But he had no choice.

Emmett stepped forward. He kept his face completely blank. He bowed. "Right this way, my Lord."

Emmett turned and walked toward the grand staircase. He heard Kearney's heavy boots walking right behind him. He could feel Kearney staring at the back of his neck. Emmett felt like a rabbit being hunted by a starving wolf.

It was eight o'clock. The massive crystal chandeliers in the dining room burned brightly. The long mahogany table was surrounded by powerful politicians and city bankers.

Emmett stood behind the chairs. He held his left arm behind his back. His right hand held a heavy crystal wine decanter. He moved silently over the thick carpet.

He stepped behind Augustine, a federal judge. Emmett tilted the decanter. The dark red wine poured perfectly into the glass. Not a single drop hit the white tablecloth.

Judge Augustine leaned over to Senator Gideon. "The Crown's Treasury is cracking down," the judge whispered. "They are auditing all offshore trust accounts. Looking for illegal wire transfers."

Emmett didn't pause his pouring. But his brain locked onto the words. An audit. That was the weapon the Viscount would use to frame Kearney.

Viscount Corbin sat at the head of the table. He heard the judge. The Viscount's face turned pale. He quickly laughed and tried to change the subject.

Kearney sat to the right of the Viscount. He didn't touch the expensive caviar on his plate. He just drank ice water. His eyes were dark and furious.

Clara sat directly across from Kearney. She wore a tight, dark red silk dress. She leaned forward, pushing her chest up.

"Kearney," Clara said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Do you enjoy the opera in the capital?"

Kearney didn't look at her chest. He didn't even blink.

"It's too loud," Kearney said. His voice was like grinding stones. "I'd rather sit in an insane asylum."

The entire table went silent. The politicians awkwardly looked down at their plates. Clara's face turned bright red. Her fingers gripped her napkin so hard her knuckles popped.

Emmett was standing right behind Kearney. When he heard Kearney insult Clara, the corner of Emmett's mouth twitched. He smiled for half a second.

Kearney suddenly leaned back in his heavy wooden chair. He turned his head and looked straight up into Emmett's eyes.

"Do you think that's funny?" Kearney asked. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. Only Emmett could hear it.

Emmett instantly killed his smile. He looked down at the table. His face became a mask of pure ice.

"Apologies, my Lord," Emmett said smoothly. "I was just thinking about the wine pairing for the next course."

Kearney stared at him. His dark eyes searched Emmett's face. Then, Kearney pushed his empty wine glass to the edge of the table.

"Pour," Kearney commanded.

Emmett stepped closer. He leaned over Kearney's shoulder to pour the wine. He was so close he could smell the sharp scent of cedar and cold rain on Kearney's skin.

Kearney reached up to grab the glass. As he did, his bare fingers intentionally brushed against Emmett's white silk glove.

A violent shock of electricity shot up Emmett's arm. His wrist locked up. He forced his muscles to stay still, gripping the heavy decanter so he wouldn't drop it.

Across the table, Dalia Blackwood watched them. She was a wealthy, powerful widow. Her sharp eyes caught the intense, electric tension between the new heir and the handsome footman.

Dalia smiled. She liked playing games. She looked at Emmett's sharp jawline and broad shoulders.

Dalia casually pushed her silver fork off the table. It hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Emmett immediately walked over to her. He dropped to one knee on the carpet to pick it up.

Under the table, hidden by the long white cloth, Dalia moved her leg. The sharp point of her high heel slowly dragged up Emmett's calf.

Emmett's jaw clenched. He grabbed the fork and started to stand up.

"Corbin," Dalia said loudly, her voice full of lust. "Where did you find this gorgeous footman? I'll write you a check right now. I want to buy him for my estate."

Clara glared at Emmett with pure disgust.

But Kearney didn't look disgusted. He looked murderous.

Kearney's eyes turned pitch black. He did not raise his voice, nor did he make a sudden movement. Instead, he leveled a stare at Dalia that was so profoundly cold, so completely devoid of human warmth, that the words died in her throat. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. He leaned back slightly, his gaze piercing through her like a physical blade.

"Mrs. Blackwood," Kearney said softly, his voice a chilling, razor-thin whisper that cut through the silence. "The possessions within my estate are not for loan. Nor are they for sale."

Dalia swallowed hard, visibly trembling under his demonic stare. Under the table, Kearney shifted his weight. He leaned imperceptibly toward Emmett, his lips barely moving as he murmured a terrifying, guttural growl meant only for Emmett's ears.

"You are mine. Nobody touches you."

Emmett was still half-kneeling on the floor. When he heard those words, a freezing chill shot down his spine. His heart hammered against his ribs.

He looked up at Kearney's dark, obsessive eyes. Emmett realized the terrifying truth. He hadn't just escaped death. He had walked straight into the cage of a monster. And the monster had just locked the door.