CHAPTER 9— THE MAIDEN OF BLACKHAVEN

Federick walked with a smooth, silent grace that belied his age. His tailored uniform was immaculate, and his white hair was combed back with absolute precision.

As they walked down the sweeping marble corridors of the estate, Arabella dragged her feet, her bare, bruised soles leaving faint dark marks on the polished floor. The hall was lined with towering oil paintings and obsidian statues, bathed in the soft glow of golden chandeliers.

"Do not look so terrified, child," Frederick said gently, his voice carrying a warm, fatherly calm. "You are safe here."

Arabella kept her head lowered. "He... he really won't kill me?"

Frederick smiled faintly, a soft glint of affection in his eyes as he looked back at her. "Don Dante is a ruthless ruler to the outside world, yes. But his word is absolute law. If he promised you protection, not a single soul in Blackhaven will dare touch a hair on your head."

They reached a massive set of carved wooden doors at the end of the east wing. Frederick pushed them open, stepping aside to let her pass.

Arabella stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching in her chest.

Before her lay a bedroom larger than the entire servant quarters of the Draven packhouse. A giant canopy bed draped in rich crimson velvet sat against the far wall. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a breathtaking view of the glowing neon city and the dark, roaring sea below. Soft silk rugs covered the marble floor, and the room smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla.

"This... this is for me?" Arabella whispered, looking around in utter disbelief. "As a maiden?"

"For now, it is your sanctuary," Frederick replied smoothly. "Don Dante ordered that you be given proper care."

He gestured toward a private bathroom where a deep marble tub was already steaming with fragrant water.

"I have already summoned the finest court fashion designers from the city center," Frederick continued. "They will arrive shortly with fresh silk, tailored gowns, and soft shoes. For now, wash away the dust of the forest. Leave your torn rags by the door; they will be burned."

Arabella swallowed hard, hugging her arms tightly around her chest. "Thank you, sir."

"Call me Frederick," the old man corrected softly. "I have served this family since before Don Dante was born. After his father passed, I watched him grow into the man he is today. He trusts very few people in this life. In fact, I am the only person he completely relies upon."

Frederick paused, looking at her with a quiet, analytical gaze that made Arabella’s heart skip a beat.

"Which is why..." Frederick murmured, "I am deeply surprised he took you in tonight."

Arabella blinked, her eyes widening. "Surprised?"

"Don Dante does not grant asylum to strangers, let alone pack wolves," Frederick explained. "And he certainly never lets anyone near his personal wing. You are the first woman to be granted a permanent place in this estate."

Arabella’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "The first? But... what about his family? What about a Luna, or... or a mistress?"

Frederick let out a low, solemn breath. "There is no woman in Blackhaven who holds power over him. Any woman you see in the city or passing through this mansion is merely here to while away an evening. By the next morning, they do not exist in his world."

He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping into a mysterious whisper. "Except for one young master. The Don has a son."

Arabella gasped, her voice trembling. "A... a son?"

"Young Lord Leo," Frederick revealed with a small, fond smile. "He is six years old, but do not let his age fool you. He possesses his father's hard blood, dark glare, and fiery temper. He is as stubborn and sharp as a razor. Don Dante guards him fiercely and has never entrusted his care to any woman."

Frederick took a step closer, studying Arabella's stunned expression. "Yet tonight, the Don placed you under this roof. He knows Leo will need someone to watch over him while he handles the city's affairs. You will be meeting the young lord soon... though I warn you, he can be quite a terror to deal with."

Arabella’s mind raced into a panic. A six-year-old terror with the blood of a hybrid mafia boss?

"I... I don't know if I can manage a child like that," Arabella stammered, clutching her wrists. "Look at me. I'm dirty, beaten, and tattered. I don't understand why he chose me! What is so special about me?"

Frederick looked down at her, his eyes softening as he noticed the faint, glowing aura lingering around her shoulders.

"You may look broken on the outside, child," Frederick said quietly, "but you carry a distinct, magnificent wolf spirit. I can feel it."

Arabella froze, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.

Wolf?

Deep inside her mind, she scoffed bitterly. This old man doesn't know what he's talking about.

Her wolf had abandoned her for twenty years. It had made her the laughingstock of her father's pack, earned her thirty lashes, and left her for dead. Even now, it only flickered like a broken candle, keeping its secrets entirely to itself.

"I... I am wolfless," Arabella lied defensively, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor.

Frederick didn't push. He simply smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes, and bowed his head respectfully. "Rest now, child. Wash up and put on the clothes that arrive. Your new life in Blackhaven begins tonight."

With that, the butler turned and quietly retreated from the room, shutting the heavy doors behind him.

Arabella stood alone in the center of the luxurious room, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her hair was matted with dried blood and leaves, her face was bruised, and her rags hung loosely off her frail frame.

Why me? she thought, running a trembling hand over her face. Why would a dangerous, bloody Don open his doors to a disgraced girl like me?

Suddenly, a cold breeze swept through the room.

Arabella turned toward the balcony doors. Standing right at the threshold was a tiny figure in a tailored dark suit.

A small boy with jet-black hair, sharp features, and cold, piercing eyes was staring straight at her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line that mirrored Don Dante's exact expression.

The terror of B

lackhaven, young Leo Leone had arrived.