Chapter 5 - Into the Den
The heavy oak doors of the master suite were unlocked when Sadie arrived at 9:00 AM.
She pushed them open with her shoulder, carrying a heavy silver tray laden with black tea, fresh toast, and a stack of financial newspapers.
The room inside was vast, shrouded in heavy velvet drapes that blocked out nearly all daylight. The only illumination came from a roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace at the far end of the chamber.
The room smelled of mahogany smoke, old leather, expensive bourbon, and the faint, bitter scent of burn salves.
Sitting in a massive high-backed leather chair by the fire was Roman Vale.
He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, impeccably put together, but his right hand was covered in a sleek black leather glove. The right side of his collar was pulled up high, shadowing his cheek. Beside his armchair lay the massive black Mastiff, its head resting on its giant paws, its eyes following Sadie's every step.
"Set it on the desk," Roman ordered without turning his head. He was holding a glass of amber liquid, watching the flames crackle in the hearth.
Sadie walked quietly across the room, setting the tray down on the polished mahogany desk.
The dog stood up silently, its massive tail giving a single, heavy thud against the carpet. It walked over to Sadie, nudging its wet nose against her apron.
Sadie reached down naturally, her hand dropping to the dog's thick head, scratching him right behind his left ear—in a very specific, circular pattern.
The dog let out a deep sigh of contentment, leaning its entire two-hundred-pound frame against her knees.
From the armchair, Roman froze.
He turned his head slowly, his storm-gray eyes locking onto her hand on the dog's head.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Roman asked, his voice dropping to a whisper so deep it vibrated through the furniture.
Sadie didn't stop scratching the dog's ear. "Do what, sir?"
"He doesn't like being touched behind his left ear," Roman said, rising slowly from the chair. He stepped into the light of the fire, revealing the full extent of his presence. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing, but the right side of his face—from the jawline up to his hairline—was marked by severe, silvered scar tissue that pulled slightly at the edge of his handsome lip.
He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a man who had walked through hell and carried the ash back with him.
"He only let one person touch him like that," Roman said, stepping closer, his boots heavy on the rug. "A girl who died four years ago."
Sadie raised her head, looking directly into his scarred face without a single trace of pity or disgust.
"Dogs don't forget the people who saved them from the kennel, Mr. Vale," she said quietly.
Roman stopped two paces away from her. His breathing was heavy, ragged. "Who are you?"
Sadie reached up to her neck, pulling the faded leather cord out from beneath her gray collar. Hanging from the end was the small, worn silver key she had hidden in her bag.
Roman’s eyes dropped to the key. His face went entirely pale, the scar tissue on his cheek standing out in stark, white relief.
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"That's the key to the music room at Blackwood," Roman whispered, his voice cracking completely. "How do you have that?"
"Because you gave it to me," she said softly, her voice dropping the flat, formal tone of a maid, revealing the rich, familiar cadence of a voice he had heard in his dreams for four agonizing years. "The night before the house burned."
