Chapter 2 - The Designer Trap
"What... what are you implying, Clara?" Victoria’s voice wavered, perfectly calibrated to sound like a delicate, traumatized woman trying to process a tragedy. She took a hesitant step into the nursery, her oversized white wool coat draped over her shoulders like an immaculate shield. "We are all in shock. Leo almost died, and you’re standing there making wild, hysterical accusations?"
Julian slowly rose to his feet, his grief momentarily overshadowed by a sudden, chilling shift in the atmosphere. He looked from his weeping son to Clara, and then to Victoria. The billionaire’s analytical mind, famous for dissecting corporate fraud, began scanning the room for anomalies.
"Clara," Julian commanded, his voice cold and commanding once more. "Explain yourself. Right now."
Clara didn't flinch. She shifted little Leo safely into the arms of a trembling junior nurse, stepped away from the bed, and marched straight toward Victoria. The aristocratic blonde instinctively stepped back, but Clara was faster. With a swift, aggressive motion, Clara reached out and snatched the white Chanel handbag right off Victoria’s arm.
"Hey! How dare you!" Victoria shrieked, her mask of cool composure instantly shattering. Her face flushed a violent crimson as she lunged forward to grab her bag back. "Julian! Are you going to let this servant rob me in my own home? Get her away from me!"
"Don't move," Julian growled, his voice dropping an octave. The sheer weight of his authority froze Victoria in her tracks. He looked at Clara, gesturing to the purse. "Open it."
"With pleasure, Mr. Vance," Clara snapped.
She unzipped the golden clasp and inverted the luxury handbag over the glass coffee table in the center of the room. Out tumbled a chaotic mess of high-end cosmetics, a diamond-encrusted cardholder, a gold compact mirror—and a small, amber-tinted glass bottle with a white medical dropper.
The room went dead silent.
The bottle rolled across the glass surface, coming to a stop right in front of Julian’s boots. He bent down slowly, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. He stared at the faded pharmacy label peeling off the side.
Pediatric Cyanide Analog. Controlled Substance. Unauthorized Possession Prohibited.
May you like
Julian’s breath hitched. His eyes slowly rose from the bottle to Victoria, whose chest was now heaving beneath her white coat. The terror in her eyes was unmistakable.
"Victoria," Julian whispered, his voice dangerously quiet. "Care to explain why my son’s lethal dosage prescription is sitting inside your personal handbag?"
