CH.5

~Dane Creighton's Mansion~

Mrs. Creighton sat elegantly on the velvet chaise lounge, her slender fingers delicately turning the pages of a leather-bound book.

The lenses of her tortoiseshell reading glasses reflected the plush living room bathed in a warm glow as she lost herself in the story's world.

The tranquil atmosphere was suddenly shattered by the sound of muffled sobs approaching.

Mrs. Creighton peered over her glasses just as a young maid burst through the door, her uniform clinging to her trembling frame.

Tears streamed down the girl's flushed cheeks as she hiccuped between ragged breaths.

"Clara, dear, what's the matter?" Mrs. Creighton set her book aside, maternal concern etching her brow.

The maid, Clara, could barely form a coherent sentence through her hysterics. "M-Madam...the young master...he..." She dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs.

Mrs. Creighton's expression hardened as realization dawned. This wasn't the first time her son had terrorized the staff.

She rose gracefully and placed a comforting hand on Clara's quivering shoulder.

"Take a deep breath, child," she soothed. "Now, tell me exactly what happened."

Clara swallowed hard, her eyes downcast. "I went to wake Master Dane as you instructed. B-But he was in a foul temper. He...he ordered me out and said if I returned, he'd..." She shuddered violently. "He'd kill me, Madam." Her words were laced with genuine terror. She knew all too well their volatile master wouldn't hesitate to make good on his threats.

A weary sigh slipped past Mrs. Creighton's lips. Her son's violent outbursts were becoming more frequent and troubling.

She pulled Clara into a maternal embrace, gently stroking her hair. "There, there, dear girl. You've done nothing wrong. Return to your duties - I will handle my son myself."

Clara managed a tremulous nod before scurrying off, throwing one last terrified glance over her shoulder.

Mrs. Creighton steeled herself, climbing the grand staircase to the upper wing where her son's private quarters were located.

"Dane? It's your mother. I'm coming in.” She rapped firmly on the ornately carved door.

She didn't wait for a response before turning the handle and slipping inside the almost dark, spacious bedroom.

Her son's muscular form was cocooned in the plush bedding, his well-defined features relaxed in slumber.

Mrs. Creighton's stern expression softened as she perched on the edge of the mattress, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Wake up, Dane. You're going to be late for work again."

Dane stirred, cracking one eye open to glare balefully at her. "Get out!" he growled, his voice still rough with sleep.

His mother's hand stilled. "That's no way to speak to your mother, young man. Now get up before you’re late for work."

Upon recognizing his mother's voice and touch, Dane reluctantly opened his eyes to find her looking at him disapprovingly.

He simply rolled over and burrowed closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head in her lap like a spoiled child.

"I'm the boss, Mother," he mumbled petulantly. "I can come and go as I please. Let me stay like this a while longer."

Mrs. Creighton's stern look cracked, letting a tender smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

Her fingers involuntarily moved to rake through his thick, tousled hair.

They remained in that position for over half an hour until Mrs. Creighton finally decided to break the silence.

"As much as I'd love to indulge you, Dane, it's time to get ready for your day. Up now, my son." Her back was starting to ache from sitting still for so long.

With a groan of protest, Dane reluctantly removed himself from her embrace and swung his long legs over the side of the bed.

He leaned in to brush an affectionate kiss against her cheek before padding off to the adjoining bathroom, leaving his mother shaking her head fondly.

Dane emerged from the bathroom with a towel secured around his waist moments later, making his way to his private suite's dressing room.

He had a long day ahead and needed to dress appropriately for work.

After some thought, he decided on an impeccably charcoal suit with a shirt of the same color.

He had taken care with his grooming - his dark hair was neatly coiffed and his jaw cleanly shaven, accentuating his devilishly handsome features.

His choice of footwear was equally refined – elegant leather shoes that added an extra touch of class.

A golden watch found its place on his wrist, and he dabbed on a potent cologne that filled the room with its rich aroma.

He checked his appearance one last time in the mirror before exiting his private quarters.

His good mood, however, evaporated the second he spotted Clara scurrying down the hallway with her eyes downcast.

The maid flinched violently when she realized he had seen her, hunching her shoulders in a futile attempt to make herself smaller.

"Dane Creighton!" His mother's stern voice cut through his rage like a whip-crack. "I ordered Clara to keep her job. You will not disrespect my wishes in this house. Am I making myself clear?"

Dane opened his mouth, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw, but seemed to think better of it.

"Eat breakfast before you leave for work.” Mrs. Creighton swiftly changed the topic before things could escalate further.

With a curt nod, he brushed past the cowering maid and headed for the dining room where his mother waited.

"Good morning, Mother," he forced out through gritted teeth as he took his seat at the head of the table. "I trust you slept well?"

Mrs. Creighton arched one elegant brow at his thinly veiled sarcasm but opted not to comment. "I did, thank you. Now eat up before your food gets cold."

An uncomfortable silence fell as Dane obediently spooned eggs onto his plate.

Mrs. Creighton watched him closely, her expression unreadable.

"What time should I expect you home this evening?" Her voice carried a note of distress that was hard for anyone to overlook.

Dane paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He knew that anxious lilt in her voice all too well - she was dreading his inevitable answer.

"Late!" he replied gruffly, shoveling the forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Mrs. Creighton wasn't surprised by this response. Of course - that meant her son would be out gallivanting with his gang until all hours, likely drinking and carrying on with God knew how many women before finally crawling home at dawn. The thought made her ill.

This explained why he always seemed so drained in the mornings. 

"When are you going to quit, Dane?" she pleaded, reaching across the table to grasp his hand. "Surely you don't intend to lead this dangerous life forever?"

Dane jerked his hand back as if her touch had scorched him. "This is no concern of yours, Mother," he growled warningly. "And I'll thank you to stop prying into my matters."

"Do not take that tone with me, young man!" Mrs. Creighton's eyes flashed dangerously, pushing her chair back and rising from the table.

"You're speaking to your mother right now, not one of your little hired goons," she snapped, slamming her fist on the table. "As long as you’re my son, your business very much concerns me! Now sit back down, I'm not finished!"

Dane felt a surge of anger threatening to erupt, but he remained outwardly calm as he retook his seat out of respect for her. He didn't want to truly upset her.

"What do you think you're doing? The son of the interior minister leading a criminal gang and sleeping with prostitutes every night," Mrs. Creighton exclaimed in anger.

"Mother, please don't sully your lips by speaking about that despicable individual," Dane replied, his voice cold as ice.

Mrs. Creighton was at the end of her tether with her son's behavior. "Don't disrespect your father like that!" she retorted, raising her voice. 

“That sniveling coward is no father of mine," he spat venomously. “No one else dared raise their voice at me without losing their lives. You are the sole exception, mother.”

“Are you threatening me, son?” Mrs. Creighton questioned.

“Threat?” Dane's rage simmered beneath his cool exterior, hotter than a wildfire. “Can't you see how much I cherish you as my mother?”

He took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves before adding, “And let me be clear - I have no interest in following in his footsteps. I want no woman who's been with other men before me."

He shoved back from the table, the legs of his chair screeching against the hard floor.

With that, he stormed out, slamming the front door behind him hard enough to rattle the windows without another word or backward glance at his beloved mother.