Chapter 7 - The Poisoned Gift
By midnight, the storm outside had reached its peak. Thunder shook the heavy glass of the master bedroom, sending streaks of lightning illuminating the dark room in sudden, stark white flashes.
Naomi lay on her side on the plush king-sized bed, wearing a soft silk nightgown. She couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the rapid thump-thump of the ultrasound machine, followed by Julianna’s cold, cruel voice warning her about the targets on her back.
The bedroom door clicked open quietly.
Adrian stepped inside. He had changed into a soft black t-shirt and dark trousers, his hair damp from a shower. He looked exhausted, the dark circles beneath his eyes reflecting the immense strain he was carrying.
He stopped near the edge of the bed, assuming she was asleep. He stood there for a long moment, simply watching her chest rise and fall in the dim light of the lightning flashes.
“I’m awake,” Naomi whispered into the darkness.
Adrian paused, then walked slowly over to her side of the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs dipping beneath his weight.
“You should be resting,” he said softly.
“I can’t,” Naomi replied, turning onto her back to look up at him. “Adrian… tell me the truth. Is my life in danger right now?”
Adrian stayed quiet for three long seconds. In the past, he would have lied. He would have given her a smooth, reassuring corporate answer to keep her calm.
This time, he looked her dead in the eye.
“Yes,” Adrian admitted, his voice rough. “Moretti won't strike here at the estate—the security perimeter is too heavy. But if you leave these gates, yes. You are in danger.”
Naomi swallowed hard, reaching out to pull the duvet higher over her shoulders. “And the child?”
Adrian slowly reached out, placing his large, warm hand over her flat stomach. The heat of his palm sank through the silk of her nightgown, sending a soothing wave of comfort straight to her core.
“Nothing will happen to this child, Naomi,” Adrian vowed, his voice absolute. “I swear it on my father’s grave.”
Naomi looked up at his handsome, battle-scarred face. In the faint light of the storm, she saw the terrifying truth: Adrian Vale was a monster to the rest of the world, a man who ruled by fear and cold calculation. But sitting here on this bed, touching her stomach with trembling reverence, he was simply a man terrified of losing the only family he had left.
A quiet knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Adrian’s hand immediately left her stomach, his body instantly turning defensive. “Speak.”
The door opened an inch. A young housemaid, pale and trembling slightly, held a silver tray containing a crystal glass of warm milk and honey—a traditional remedy Dr. Thorne had prescribed to help Naomi sleep.
“Pardon the intrusion, sir,” the maid squeaked. “The kitchen prepared the warm milk for Mrs. Vale as requested.”
Adrian stood up, walking over to the door. He took the tray from the maid’s hands. “Thank you. Go downstairs.”
He brought the tray to the nightstand, setting it down beside Naomi. He picked up the crystal glass, looking down at the sweet liquid.
Naomi reached for the glass. “I am thirsty—”
Adrian suddenly pulled the glass back.
His eyes narrowed as he looked closely at the rim of the crystal tumbler. A tiny, almost imperceptible film of oily residue floated along the edge of the milk.
May you like
Without a word, Adrian dipped his pinky finger into the glass, brought it to his nose, and took a light scent. His jaw instantly locked into a terrifying, rigid line.
Cyanide.
