The Socialite Tried to Slap a Maid—Then the Palace Owner Called the Woman in the Wheelchair “Mother”

Victoria Ashford’s hand stopped three inches from the elderly woman’s face.

Clara Bennett had caught her wrist.

For one breathless second, no one inside Blackthorn Palace moved.

The string quartet fell silent. Champagne glasses hovered in midair. Hundreds of wealthy guests stared at the young maid standing between the most influential socialite in the city and a fragile woman seated in a wheelchair.

Victoria twisted against Clara’s grip.

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

Clara’s heart hammered beneath her black uniform, but her fingers remained steady.

“No.”

A ripple of shock passed through the ballroom.

Victoria’s face darkened.

“Do you have any idea who controls this event?”

Clara released her wrist only after Victoria lowered her hand.

“I know you were about to strike someone who couldn’t defend herself.”

Victoria stepped closer, trembling with fury.

“You’re finished. By sunrise, no hotel, estate, or private household in this city will hire you.”

Then a calm male voice came from directly behind her.

“That will be difficult.”

Victoria froze.

Adrian Blackwood stood beneath the golden light of the chandelier, dressed in a midnight tuxedo. He was the owner of Blackthorn Palace, chairman of the Blackwood Foundation, and the man whose family name was carved into half the buildings in the city.

His eyes moved from Victoria to the elderly woman.

“Mother,” he said softly. “Are you hurt?”

Every trace of color vanished from Victoria’s face.

The woman in the wheelchair was Eleanor Blackwood.

Adrian’s mother.

The true matriarch of the Blackwood family.

Victoria opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Adrian turned toward Clara.

“What is your name?”

“Clara Bennett, sir.”

Before Adrian could respond, Eleanor reached for Clara’s hand.

Her grip was surprisingly strong.