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.”

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. He simply descended the stairs, leaving

dawn, the storm of the night had

“assessment” was little more than an excuse

off and personally accompanied Ivan to Berlington Elementary. To her surprise,

at the entrance.

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

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you’d never call Charlie Linden, Just shy of fifty bur looking a

with any extra staff. Just as you asked, I brought York’s homeroom teacher

much,” Alessia replied politely, keeping a touch of distance in her tone. Charlie, however, was as warm

you. You’re so young, so talented, and yet never 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 graduated high school

exactly why you should strike while the