Chapter 5 - THE POISON IN THE GLASS
Jary didn't lose his temper immediately. True power, he knew, was patient and lethal.
He washed his face with cold water, straightened his tie, and stepped out of the study. He walked down the corridor toward the guest wing, knocking softly on the door.
Olivia opened it. She had Noah asleep on the guest bed, cushioned safely with pillows, while she walked Eli in gentle circles. Her shoes were off, her shoulders slumped from exhaustion. When she saw Jary’s red eyes, she immediately braced herself, preparing for the termination she assumed was coming.
“Mr. Wilson,” she said quietly. “If you want me to leave, I will pack my bag. Just... please let me wait until the pediatrician arrives. Eli’s breathing is too shallow.”
Jary looked at her, his throat constricting so tightly he could barely speak. Without a word, he stepped into the room, gently took Eli from her arms, and brought his son’s tiny forehead to his lips. Eli smelled like lavender baby wash and sweat.
“I am not firing you, Olivia,” Jary said, his voice thick with unspilt tears. “I owe you my sons’ lives.”
Olivia stared at him, bewildered. “Sir?”
“I watched the footage,” Jary whispered. “All of it. From the hidden cameras.”
Olivia’s hand went to her mouth. She didn’t gloat, nor did she smile with vindication. Instead, tears instantly filled her dark eyes. “Those poor babies, Mr. Wilson. She’s been doing it for weeks. Every time you leave town. I tried to speak up, but she threatened to tell the agency I was stealing her jewelry. Nobody believes the maid over the billionaire’s fiancée.”
“I believe you,” Jary said, his voice hard as iron. “And the entire world is about to know what she is.”
Before Jary could explain further, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Clare: Darling, Arthur is downstairs! Can you bring up the pre-nuptial revisions we discussed? Let’s toast to our future!
Arthur Vance was Jary’s longtime corporate attorney—and, unknown to Jary until recently, Clare’s close confidant. Clare had been pushing for an expedited marriage, demanding a revised clause that granted her fifty percent of the Wilson Trust in the event of Jary’s accidental death or incapacitation.
A cold, vicious smirk touched the corner of Jary’s mouth.
“Olivia,” Jary said quietly, handing Eli back to her. “I need you to do one more job for me today. But this time, you aren’t cleaning floors.”
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“What do you need me to do, Mr. Wilson?”
“I need you to help me set a trap.”
