UNHALLOWED

6 Truly

CHAPTER 6

Truly

Rory found herself rendered completely speechless, rising instinctively from her seat as the dangerously handsome stranger approached. Up close, his height was even more imposing, his presence radiating an animalistic magnetism that made the air feel thin.

Up close, his sheer scale was staggering. Rory was used to being the tallest person in any room, a fact emphasized today by her three-inch heels, yet he still loomed over her, an enormous, towering presence. Even with her added height, she found herself having to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, feeling—for the first time in years—truly and utterly eclipsed by a man’s physical stature.

Something was unnerving about his gaze; his eyes were a black so absolute she could not distinguish the pupils from the iris, as if the shadows of the rooftop deck had permanently settled within them. As he drew closer, a scent preceded him—a sophisticated blend of sandalwood and fresh musk that whispered of wealth and old-world power.

He looked down at the five-year-old in his arms, who had suddenly turned bashful, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “Do not be shy now,” he urged, his voice losing the jagged edge she thought she held at the gym. “You are the one who insisted on this meeting, remember?”

The little girl, her blonde hair tied into pigtails with a sequined purple ribbon from Rory’s own merchandise line, gave a tiny, hesitant nod against his shoulder. “But I shy, Dada,” she whispered cutely.

Malphas rubbed his daughter’s back in a soothing, rhythmic motion—a gesture of pure, unadulterated tenderness. “There is no need for that, my little one. She is exactly who you think she is.”

He finally shifted his obsidian gaze back to Rory. The transition was jarring; the “absolute zero” predator-looking man from the four a.m workout had been replaced by a doting father, though the underlying authority remained.

“Good morning, Miss Dixon,” he said, his voice a smooth, practiced velvet that offered no apology for his earlier coldness.

Rory parted her lips, cleared her throat, as her professional composure momentarily snagged on the jagged edge of her confusion. “G-Good morning—” she began, her voice trailing off into the crisp morning air. She realized with a jolt of annoyance that Marissa had not bothered to provide a name, leaving her flying blind.

Politics? The word echoed mockingly in her mind. She glanced down at her structured silhouette and thought of the tight, severe ballerina bun holding her hair in place. She had dressed for a boardroom battle with a high-level executive, not a playdate with a sequined five-year-old and a man who looked like he owned the underworld.

“Mordrake,” Malphas interjected, his voice slicing through her thoughts. He did not blink, his obsidian eyes maintaining a relentless, heavy contact with Rory’s honey-gold gaze. “I apologize for the lack of a formal introduction. I tend to guard my privacy with extreme prejudice. But this,” he said, his expression softening by a fraction as he looked at the child in his arms, “is my daughter, Lily-Grace.”

The name Mordrake hung in the air with the weight of a funeral shroud. It was not just a name; it was a dynasty, a shadow over the entire Europe that explained the bodyguards and the “Absolute Zero” demeanor. He was not a politician—he was the law that the politicians feared.

But Rory did not know that.

Not yet.

Lily-Grace finally peeked out from the safety of her father’s shoulder, offering Rory a tentative, angelic smile. Rory could not help but feel her own professional mask soften; she beamed back at the beautiful child, whose bright blue eyes and blonde hair made her look like a porcelain doll come to life.

“Hello… I Lily-Gwace…” the little girl whispered, her introduction made even more endearing by the soft, sweet lisp of a five-year-old. She tugged gently on the lapel of her father’s suit, her eyes wide with a sudden burst of courage. “Dada, I down pweash? I want show my dwess.”

Malphas gave a single, controlled nod. “Alright, little one,” he murmured, his voice softening to a depth he clearly reserved only for her. He lowered her to the ground with practiced care, his large, calloused hands lingering for a second to smooth the ruffled hem of her skirt and ensure the sequins sat perfectly.

Once her feet hit the deck, Lily-Grace spun in a tiny, wobbly circle, her face lighting up with pure, unadulterated pride. She looked up at Rory, her blue eyes sparkling. “I wear same dwess like you!” she chirped, beaming as she showcased the shimmering fabric that mirrored Rory’s iconic stage attire.

The innocence of the cutest young girl was a stark, jarring contrast to the heavy, dark aura of the man behind her. Standing there in her signature red heels, Rory felt a strange tug at her heart—the “Global Pop Icon” was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a woman genuinely charmed by the tiny fan in the shimmering pink and light blue dress.

Rory’s heart melted; the icy tension Malphas had instilled in her thawed instantly at the sound of that tiny voice. Disregarding the stiffness of her designer suit, she sank into a graceful crouch, bringing herself down to Lily-Grace’s eye level so the little girl would not have to look so far up.

“It is so lovely to meet you, Lily-Grace,” Rory said, her voice dropping into a warm, melodic tone that was worlds away from her stage persona. “You are the absolute prettiest in your dress.”

Lily-Grace giggled happily as she looked up at her dad and looked back at Rory when she reached out a hand, offering it for the girl to high-five. “I have to say,” Rory said, “I think you are wearing that ribbon better than I ever could. You look like a total superstar."

Lily-Grace’s eyes went wide, and she finally high fived Rory’s hand with a giggling, “Thank you very much, Miss Wowy!”

Malphas watched the interaction in silence, his expression unreadable, though the gaze he held on his daughter remained protective. With a subtle nod from him, the waiters—who had been hovering like nervous ghosts—sprang into action.

“Let us sit,” Malphas said, gesturing toward the impeccably set table with a stiff, aristocratic courtesy.

Rory stood back up, smoothing her trousers, and took her seat. Malphas settled into the chair opposite her, placing Lily-Grace in a booster seat beside him. The table was a spread of silver and crystal, but the atmosphere remained charged; on one side sat the innocent, shimmering child, and on the other, the man who looked like he could order a hit as easily as he could order a coffee.

By the time they ordered and their foods were served, Lily-Grace rambled about how she loved singing and dancing to Rory’s songs. The little girl was obviously her cutest fan. Rory interacted naturally and happily without pretensions, which was a different sight from how Malphas had seen her earlier in the gym when she was brutally hitting and kicking the punching bag as if she were killing a real person.

“We have same hair color, Miss Wowy.” Lily-Grace spoke adorably as she smiled at her.

“Yes, we nearly do have the same hair color now, don’t we?” She answered and smiled. “Yours is a little lighter and prettier.”

Lily-Grace giggled as she confidently fed herself while her tiny legs moved back and forth, a sign Malphas knew she was so happy right now. He took a sip from his coffee and listened to his daughter being adorable, but also observing Rory.

Lily-Grace’s chubby cheeks worked in adorable, frantic cycles as she chewed, making her look remarkably like a tiny, determined chipmunk.

“Slow down, baby girl,” Malphas murmured. He immediately leaned in, his large hand moving with surprising delicacy as he used a linen napkin to dab a stray smudge from her chin and tiny lips.

“I sowwy, Dada,” Lily-Grace chirped the moment she managed to swallow.

He gave a small, indulgent shake of his head. “It is alright. Just take your time, understood?”

Watching them, Rory sat in a state of quiet bewilderment. She was utterly floored by the whiplash of his transformation. The man who had been a cold, mechanical force of nature on the treadmill just hours ago—the one with the “Absolute Zero” stare—had completely vanished. The chilling void in his eyes had been replaced by a focused, quiet warmth that seemed reserved solely for the small girl beside him. It was hard to believe the hands now gently caring for a five-year-old were the same ones that looked capable of snapping a person in two.

“Miss Wowy?” Lily-Grace chirped, her wide, innocent blue eyes fixed on Rory with pure adoration.

Rory’s smile softened and grew wider. “You do not have to call me ‘Miss,’ okay, little cutie?”

Lily-Grace smiled shyly when Rory called her little cutie.

She continued, “You can just call me Rory. After all, we are friends, aren’t we?”

The little girl let out a tiny, theatrical gasp, her excitement practically radiating off her. “We fwiends?”

“Of course we are,” Rory answered without a second's hesitation.

Lily-Grace dissolved into a fit of happy giggles, nodding enthusiastically. “I so happy! Thank you make fwiends with me! Dada, I fwiends with Wowy!” She beamed at her father, seeking his approval, before turning her inquisitive gaze back to Rory. “I ask you, umm, why your hair up? I always see your hair on TV down when you dance on stage and sing.”

Rory offered a warm, indulgent smile. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached up and pulled the hair tie from her hair, letting the heavy, pale wheat-colored waves cascade down her shoulders. Having been coiled tightly in a bun, her hair tumbled in soft, effortless curls that framed her face, instantly softening her sharp, corporate edge.

“Wow! So pwetty haiw!” Lily-Grace chimed happily as Rory let her tiny hands touch her hair.

Across the table, the atmosphere shifted. Malphas leaned back into the plush leather of his chair, his tall frame suddenly still. His obsidian eyes tracked the movement of her hair as it fell, dark and unreadable. As he watched her, he let out a slow, tethered exhale through his slightly parted lips.

Almost unconsciously, he began to rhythmically scratch the finger of his thumb against the heavy silver ring on his forefinger—a subtle, restless gesture that betrayed the first crack in his “Absolute Zero” composure for the first time. The high-fashion giant was gone, replaced by the goddess the world saw on stage, and for the first time, Malphas looked like a man who was truly paying attention to a woman.