Chapter 2 - Into the Lion’s Den
The Maro Estate sat on twenty acres of prime land along the banks of the Mississippi River, hidden behind towering wrought-iron gates and guarded by armed men in crisp black suits. To the outside world, it was a fortress. To Dela, as she stepped into the grand marble foyer carrying a small duffel bag of her few possessions, it felt like a gilded cage.
“Welcome home, Miss Marsh,” said Mrs. Gable, the elderly head housekeeper, bowing her head respectfully.
Dela blinked in surprise. She was used to being sneered at by staff in wealthy households, but Mrs. Gable’s eyes were warm and filled with genuine relief.
“The nursery is on the east wing, right next to the Master suite,” Mrs. Gable explained as she led Dela up the grand winding staircase. “The children haven't slept through the night since they were brought home from the hospital. The Don... he stays up with them, but he is running a global enterprise on two hours of sleep a day.”
“He doesn't let anyone help him?” Dela asked softly.
“He didn't trust anyone,” Mrs. Gable replied. “Not after what happened to Madam Elena. Until tonight.”
When they reached the nursery, Dela’s breath caught. It was a massive, sunlit suite filled with handcrafted cribs, soft pastel plush toys, and state-of-the-art monitoring systems. But despite the luxury, it lacked warmth—until the three babies caught sight of Dela standing in the doorway.
Luca was the first to scramble across the plush rug, his tiny legs wobbling as he reached for her dress. Dela dropped her duffel bag immediately, falling to her knees on the soft carpet. She scooped Luca into her arms, pulling him tight against her chest.
“Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispered, burying her face in his soft curls. He smelled like baby powder and lavender.
Leo and Mia crawled over next, piling into her lap until she was completely covered in babbling, giggling babies. For the first time in six long months, the tightness in Dela’s chest vanished. She closed her eyes and began to hum that soft, ancient lullaby once more.
In the doorway, Antoine stood silently, leaning against the wooden frame. He had shed his suit jacket, rolling his crisp white shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing dark tattoos winding up his forearms. He watched the scene with an expression so intense it made Dela’s face flush warmly.
“They haven't laughed like that since they were born,” Antoine said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet room.
Dela looked up, her cheeks warm. “Babies remember love, Mr. Maro. They remember skin-to-skin warmth and soft tones. When they were in those incubators, they weren't just struggling to breathe—they were lonely.”
Antoine walked into the room, crouching down beside her. His knee brushed against her thigh through her skirt, sending a jolt of unexpected electricity straight up her spine. Dela shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of her body—her broad hips, her rounded curves, the soft swell of her stomach. She felt completely out of place next to this effortlessly handsome, dangerously sharp man.
Antoine noticed her pull back. His brow furrowed. “Why do you shrink away when I come near you, Dela?”
“I... I know what I look like,” Dela admitted, staring down at her hands. “I know I’m not the kind of woman who belongs in a Maro home. Your late wife was a model, wasn't she? Elegant, thin, high-society. I’m just... big Dela from the diner.”
Antoine’s jaw clenched. He reached out, his thumb catching her chin and gently forcing her to look into his eyes.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Antoine said, his tone laced with absolute finality. “Elena was born into wealth, yes. But she hated these children before they were even born. She wanted a social trophy, not a family. When she found out she was having triplets, she flew into a rage because of what it would do to her body.”
Dela’s eyes widened in shock.
“She refused to follow doctor’s orders,” Antoine continued, his voice dropping into a dark register. “She went out partying, taking unapproved medications, pushing her body until she went into premature labor. And when the crash happened... she was running away with her lover.”
Dela gasped, covering her mouth.
“My children survived because of you,” Antoine said, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “You gave them your blood, your sweat, your tears, and your breath while their real mother was trying to erase them. You are more beautiful to me right now than any empty socialite in New Orleans could ever dream of being.”
Dela’s heart hammered furiously against her ribs. No man had ever spoken to her like that. No man had ever looked at her with such fierce, undivided intensity.
Before she could speak, the front gates’ intercom chimed loudly downstairs, followed by the sound of shouting in the foyer.
Donovan’s voice echoed up the staircase, sharp and lethal: “You are not permitted on the property, Miss Bianca!”
Antoine’s eyes turned to ice. He stood up in one fluid motion. “Stay here with the children, Dela.”
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“Antoine, wait,” Dela called out nervously.
“Nobody hurts what is mine,” Antoine said calmly, pulling a sleek black handgun from his waist holster and sliding it smoothly behind his back. “It’s time I paid my late sister-in-law a long-overdue visit.”
