A False Heiress's Guide to Love and Power

Butler Dawson maintained the same dignified composure that one might expect from an English butler of a bygone era, even in the face of Ileana’s accusations.

“Miss Ileana, if I were you, I’d pretend nothing ever happened. Don’t you see by now? I’m not the one who refused to give you Mr. Tate’s number. Nor was I the one who let Miss Morton in. My loyalty lies with the Tate family, with Mr. Tate, and with his sons. But you, Miss, are not among them.”

It hadn’t been Dawson’s decision to withhold the phone number–that was Scott’s explicit order. After Ileana’s disastrous scene at the family welcome dinner, her value in Scott’s eyes had plummeted. No family of stature would tolerate a daughter–in–law who lost her composure in public over some minor slight, embarrassing them in front of their guests.

As for letting Alessia into the house–that was entirely Max’s doing. Alessia’s influence at home stemmed mostly from Max’s support.

Ileana, by contrast, was simply ignored. She could command the other staff, but when it came to Dawson–the man who managed every detail of the Tate

household–she had no leverage whatsoever.

“It’s getting late. I suggest you get some rest. I’ll be on my way. As for the lock, I’m afraid you’ll have to manage for tonight. I’ll have someone replace it for you in the

morning.”

softly behind him, but Ileana’s shrill scream pierced the quiet, grating on the nerves. Glass shattered and things crashed to the floor, but Dawson didn’t so much as glance back.

dawn, the storm of

“assessment” was little more than an excuse to tailor a curriculum to Ivan’s needs; even if

the day off and personally accompanied Ivan to Berlington Elementary. To her surprise, the principal and two teachers

at the entrance.

gently squeezing Ivan’s hand–a silent reassurance that seemed

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call Charlie Linden, Just shy of fifty bur looking a decade younger,

situation, so I didn’t bother with any extra staff.

a touch of distance in her

arrogant. Are you sure you won’t consider my son? He’s only five years older than you–not exactly ancient! Looks

a sigh. “Mr. Linden, I’m only seventeen. I haven’t even

should strike while the Iron’s hot! Someone