Everyone Hated the Little Girl for Ruining the Birthday—Until They Saw What Was Inside the Cake

"Oliver!"

Marcus lunged forward, catching his son just before the boy’s head hit the marble floor. Oliver was thrashing, his eyes wide with panic as he desperately tried to pull air into his closing lungs.

"Call an ambulance! Now!" Marcus roared, tearing at the collar of Oliver’s tailored dress shirt.

The ballroom erupted into chaos. Guests screamed, knocking over champagne flutes and chairs as they scrambled away from the center of the room. Natalie stood frozen by the door, her face suddenly devoid of its arrogant sneer. For a fraction of a second, Marcus thought he saw genuine horror in her eyes.

"He needs his EpiPen!" Grace shouted, pushing her way through the panicking billionaires. She dropped to her knees beside Marcus. "Where is it, Mr. Vance? Where is his pen?"

"Sarah has it," Marcus choked out, his hands trembling as he held his gasping son. "Sarah always carries it in her purse."

But Sarah was gone. The nanny who had raised him, the woman who had dropped her silver locket by the catering cart, had vanished into the night with the only thing that could save Oliver’s life.

"Hold him up," Grace ordered, her previous subservience completely gone. She looked at Emma. "Emma, baby, my master keys. Get them."

Emma didn't hesitate. She dug into her mother's apron pocket, pulled out the heavy ring of hotel master keys, and slammed them into her mother’s hand.

"The executive suites are right above us," Grace told Marcus, grabbing his shoulder. "Does he have a backup pen in his room?"

"Top drawer of his nightstand," Marcus gasped.

"Emma, stay here. Keep his head elevated!" Grace commanded. She didn't wait for permission. She sprinted toward the staff elevators, her rubber-soled shoes slipping on the spilled cake, pushing past the wealthy guests who were doing nothing but watching.

Marcus held Oliver, whose lips were turning a dark, bruised purple. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Natalie. She hadn't moved.

"Did you do this?" Marcus snarled, his voice guttural, animalistic. "Did you put it in the punch, too?"

Natalie stepped back, her hands shaking. "No... Marcus, I swear to God. The cake, yes. I told Sarah to taint the cake so I could stop the party and prove you were an unfit father. I just wanted custody of the company. I just wanted you to look bad! But I didn't touch the punch! I would never kill him!"

Marcus’s mind reeled. The morality clause in their operating agreement. If Marcus was deemed negligent, Natalie could force a buyout of his shares. She had orchestrated the cake disaster to frame him for poor parenting.

But if Natalie only tainted the cake, who tainted the punch?

"Mr. Vance!"

Emma was pointing at the floor near the overturned punch bowl. A small, blue glass vial lay shattered on the marble. There was a strange, oily residue inside the broken glass. It wasn't strawberry extract. It smelled bitter, like crushed almonds.

Cyanide.

Someone hadn't just tried to trigger an allergy. Someone had tried to assassinate his son.

The elevator doors pinged open. Grace burst out, sprinting across the ballroom with the bright yellow EpiPen in her hand. She slid on her knees, uncapping it in one fluid motion, and drove it hard into Oliver’s thigh.

Ten seconds passed. The longest ten seconds of Marcus's life.

Then, Oliver took a massive, shuddering breath. The wheezing eased. His color slowly began to return.

Marcus collapsed forward, burying his face in his son’s chest, sobbing openly in front of the entire room. Grace sat back on her heels, wiping sweat from her forehead, her hand resting protectively on Emma’s shoulder.

"He's going to be okay," Grace whispered.

Marcus looked up at the cleaner. This woman, whom he paid minimum wage, had just saved his absolute world. He then looked at the broken blue vial on the floor.

Natalie had plotted to ruin him. But someone else in this room wanted to destroy him completely.

"Mr. Vance," Emma whispered, tugging on his sleeve. She pointed toward the shattered blue glass. "I didn't see the lady in the red dress drop that. I saw the man with the cane drop it."