POISON IN THE CRYSTAL

"Someone," Victor rumbled, his voice a low, terrifying vibration that shook the crystal chandeliers above, "is going to explain to me exactly what just happened here. And if I don't like the answer, no one is leaving this room alive."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Three hundred guests—made men, corrupt politicians, and ruthless oligarchs—stood frozen like statues. No one dared to breathe.

Chloe remained on her knees, the sharp shards of shattered crystal digging into her bare legs through her thin black tights. She didn't feel the pain. Her entire universe had narrowed down to the small, trembling boy clinging to her neck. Leo’s face was buried in her shoulder, his heartbeat thumping frantically against her collarbone like a trapped bird.

Seraphina was the first to speak. She sneered, brushing the ruined, milk-soaked emerald silk of her dress. "Your hired help has lost her mind, Victor. She just assaulted me and ruined a two-hundred-thousand-dollar gown. Have your men take her to the basement."

Victor didn't look at his fiancée. His dark, obsidian eyes were locked entirely on Chloe. He noted the way his untouchable son—a boy who screamed if even a doctor tried to hold him—was anchored to this terrified woman in a cheap uniform.

"Speak," Victor commanded softly. It wasn't a request. It was an executioner’s final offer.

Chloe swallowed hard. The survival instinct screamed at her to lie, to apologize, to claim she had simply tripped. But she felt Leo’s small hands gripping her collar. If she lied, this boy would be dead by morning.

"The milk," Chloe whispered, her voice shaking so badly she barely recognized it. She forced herself to meet Victor’s lethal gaze. "Look at the milk on the marble, Mr. Rossi."

Seraphina let out a theatrical scoff. "Oh, please. She's hysterical. Victor, make her let go of Leo—"

"Silence," Victor snapped, a single word that cracked through the ballroom like a whip.

He slowly crouched down, his bespoke tuxedo trousers pulling taut. He was now eye-level with Chloe. He reached out, his large, scarred hand grazing the white puddle on the black marble floor. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, feeling the gritty, undissolved texture. Then, he brought his fingers to his nose.

Victor’s expression didn't change. Not a muscle twitched. But the temperature in the room seemed to plummet by twenty degrees.

"Barbiturates," Chloe breathed, her pediatrics background taking over. "A massive dose. Crushed and mixed in. He’s forty pounds, Mr. Rossi. If he had swallowed that, his respiratory system would have shut down in twenty minutes. He wouldn't have woken up."

A collective gasp rippled through the front row of guests.

"That is a lie!" Seraphina shrieked, her face flushing crimson. "It was his sleep aid! The doctor prescribed it! She’s trying to frame me because she’s a pathetic, jealous little peasant!"

Victor stood up slowly. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers. He looked at Seraphina, his eyes empty of any warmth.

"Dr. Aris," Victor called out into the crowd.

An older man with silver hair pushed his way to the front, trembling violently. "Y-yes, Boss?"

"Did you prescribe a powdered barbiturate for my son?"

The doctor looked at the puddle, then at Seraphina's furious face, and finally at Victor. "Never, sir. I prescribed a mild, liquid melatonin. Two drops. What is on that floor... that is a lethal narcotic."

Seraphina’s bravado faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine panic crossing her perfect features. But she recovered instantly, spinning to point a manicured finger at one of the catering staff. "Then the kitchen staff did it! Or one of the maids! I just picked the glass up off the tray!"

Chloe’s eyes darted to the silver serving tray resting on a nearby high-top table, where Seraphina had picked up the milk.

She saw it instantly.

"Then why," Chloe’s voice rang out, surprisingly steady, "is the pill crusher still on your tray?"

Victor’s head snapped toward the table. Sitting right next to the empty space where the glass had been was a heavy, silver object.

Victor walked over and picked it up. It wasn't a pill crusher.

It was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. The glass face was shattered, and the inside of the casing was coated in fine, white powder. Someone had used the heavy silver heirloom to crush the pills right on the tray, in the shadow of the pillar, just moments before handing the milk to the boy.

Victor stared at the watch, the blood completely draining from his face.

Chloe expected him to turn and shoot Seraphina. Instead, Victor looked horrified. He turned the watch over in his massive hand, his thumb tracing an intricate engraving on the back.

"Where did you get this?" Victor whispered, his voice suddenly hollow.