Chapter 4 - THE BROKEN TEA CUP
"Where are you?" Marcus’s voice shifted instantly from groggy surprise to razor-sharp military precision.
"I'm locked in my master bathroom," I whispered rapidly, the steam from the shower making the tile walls sweat. "Julian and Eleanor are downstairs. They greased the stairs to kill me, but Chloe fell instead. I have proof they murdered my father and emptied the company accounts. They have a flight to Geneva at 6:00 A.M."
"I am fifteen minutes away," Marcus commanded. "Do not drink anything they give you. Do not let them move you to a secondary location. If they breach that bathroom door, you fight with everything you have. I'm coming."
The line went dead.
I slipped the phone into my pocket. My hands were shaking so violently I had to grip the marble countertop to steady myself. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was pale, exhausted, and carrying thirty-five weeks of life in my belly.
A sharp knock rapped on the bathroom door.
"Victoria, darling?" Julian’s smooth, charming voice drifted through the wood. "Your tea is ready. Come out before it gets cold."
"Give me a minute, Julian!" I called back, trying to inject annoyance into my voice rather than terror. "I'm drying my hair!"
"Open the door, Victoria."
The charm was gone. The command was cold, hard, and final.
He twisted the doorknob aggressively. When it didn't yield, the handle rattled violently.
"Open the damn door, or I'll break it off the hinges!" Julian shouted.
He knew I knew. The facade had completely shattered.
I backed away from the door, my eyes scanning the luxurious bathroom for a weapon. My gaze landed on the heavy, cast-iron base of the antique towel rack. I grabbed it, struggling under the weight, and hoisted it like a baseball bat.
CRACK.
The wood of the door splintered as Julian kicked it from the outside.
CRACK.
The doorframe gave way. The heavy door swung inward, slamming against the tiled wall.
Julian stood in the doorway, his silk robe discarded, wearing a crisp dark suit. In his right hand, he held a steaming porcelain teacup. In his left, he held a small, black handgun equipped with a silencer.
Eleanor stood right behind him, her eyes wide and manic.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Victoria," Julian sighed, stepping into the steam-filled room. He looked at the towel rack in my hand and scoffed. "Put that down. You aren't going to swing that at me. You might throw out your back and hurt the baby."
"You don't care about this baby," I spat, gripping the iron tighter.
"I care about the insurance payout," Julian smiled chillingly. "And a tragic murder-suicide in the bathroom sells so much better than a slip on the stairs. The grieving husband narrative is my best angle."
"You drained the company, Julian," I said, trying to buy seconds. "The auditors will find the red ledger. They’ll track you to Geneva."
Julian’s smile faltered. His eyes darted to my cardigan pocket, realizing the ledger wasn't in his office.
"Where is it?" he demanded, raising the gun and pointing it directly at my stomach.
"It won't matter," I lied, my voice steady despite the absolute terror coursing through my veins. "Chloe told me everything before the ambulance arrived. She knew you were leaving her behind."
"Chloe is an idiot," Eleanor hissed from the doorway, stepping forward. "She was greedy. Just like your father. He wouldn't sell the company to us, so we took it."
"Why did you help him kill your own daughter?" I asked Eleanor, trying to keep them talking.
Eleanor laughed, a dry, horrific sound. "Chloe isn't my daughter. And Julian isn't my son."
The air left my lungs.
"What?" I breathed.
"They were my husband’s bastard children from his mistresses," Eleanor sneered, her face twisting with bitter hatred. "He forced me to raise them. When he died penniless, Julian and I made a pact. We find a wealthy, naive heiress, we drain her dry, and we split the profits. You were the easiest mark we ever found."
My entire marriage was a meticulously crafted corporate takeover. Every kiss, every anniversary, every whispered promise in the dark—it was all a long-con engineered by two sociopaths.
"Enough monologuing, Eleanor," Julian snapped, stepping closer, holding out the teacup. "Drink it, Victoria. It will stop your heart in three minutes. It’s painless. If you don't drink it, I shoot you in the stomach, and you watch your baby die before I put a bullet in your head."
He pressed the gun against the fabric of my cardigan.
I looked at the steaming tea. I looked at the man who was the father of my child.
I took the teacup.
I brought it to my lips.
And then I threw the boiling hot liquid directly into Julian’s eyes.
Julian screamed, a guttural roar of absolute agony, dropping the gun as he clawed at his scalded face.
I didn't hesitate. I swung the heavy cast-iron towel rack with every ounce of strength I had left, driving it squarely into the side of Julian's knee.
Bone cracked. Julian collapsed to the floor, howling in pain.
Eleanor shrieked, lunging at me with her manicured nails.
But before she could reach me, the heavy sound of shattered glass echoed from the master bedroom.
"Get away from her!" a voice roared.
Marcus stepped through the broken bedroom window, holding a massive tactical flashlight. He didn't ask questions. He swung the heavy flashlight, striking Eleanor across the jaw. She crumpled to the floor instantly, unconscious.
Marcus kicked Julian’s dropped gun across the tile, safely out of reach, and put his heavy boot firmly on Julian’s chest.
"You okay, boss?" Marcus asked, looking at me, breathing heavily.
"I am now," I gasped, dropping the towel rack.
But as the adrenaline began to fade, a sharp, tearing agony ripped through my lower back, wrapping around my abdomen like a vice. Warm fluid rushed down my legs, soaking into the bathmat.
May you like
My water had broken.
And looking down, the fluid wasn't clear. It was stained dark red.
