Chapter 15

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. I didn't think this was a planned attack from my staff. Martha wouldn't let that happen, and the others were too scared of me to even try. But if it wasn't an actual cooking mistake, then what was it? Cross-contamination? An accidental mix-up from some random cleaning product? Where the hell did it come from?

"I DON'T CARE. DAMNIT, MARTHA! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE SURE IT WAS SAFE FOR HER," I yelled, my voice raw and hoarse. "I care that your one, basic job—the easiest job—was keeping her safe from nuts, and you blew it! Somebody in this room is either lying or completely incompetent! Find the source! Now! Check every single thing that touched that plate! The cleaner, the rag, and the air find the damn trace! If you can't prove she's safe here, then all of you are done! Fired!"

I didn't wait for anyone to answer. I walked away fast; I needed to get out before I splintered the table with my bare hands. I had been an idiot to trust the domestic staff with something this crucial. Nova was here because of a business deal, but if I wanted her to survive, I had to take over her safety myself. I walked out, leaving the staff frozen solid behind me, and took the staircase two steps at a time toward her room. 

My heart was still pounding with pure, heavy-duty fear. That sudden, helpless panic when I saw her fight for air was something I was never going to forget. The contract didn't matter anymore. The reason she was here didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was alive, and that something in my life, something seriously dangerous, was out of my control, and not having control was the scariest thing to me.

Tanya

I stood near the dining room doorway, feeling the floor shake from the force of Killian’s rage. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying fury I had only ever seen once before. My stomach was churning, but under the fear, a triumphant feeling was bubbling up. It worked.

It was me. I was the one who did it. The moment my investigator handed over Nova's file, which, thanks to my deep contacts, I had within twenty-four hours, I saw it. A severe, life-threatening peanut allergy. The absolute golden ticket. I knew the entire house was covered in cameras, so I paid a good friend an outrageous amount of money to scrub me out of the footage. No evidence, no punishment.

I spent the next day ordering a special package. Not nuts, which Martha or security would easily spot, but a highly concentrated, refined peanut oil. No scent, no visible pieces. Just pure, deadly protein.

I’d been slipping a few drops into the scrambled eggs at the breakfast buffet every day for the past three mornings. I was so careful, darting into the dining room before Martha even set the table, ensuring the contamination was deep in the eggs. I knew she always ate eggs. I was betting that she would come down eventually.

Honestly, I was annoyed when Killian was away. I was hoping for the whole thing to happen quietly, with him stuck at the office, so I could play the panicked, helpful friend who called the ambulance too late. A tragic accident. An unfortunate coincidence.

But when he sent a staff to get Nova this morning, I was happy. This was even better. He would see her almost die, and the whole terrifying experience would make him associate her with danger, chaos, and risk.

I watched the whole thing from the table. The sudden red flush, the frantic grasping at her throat, that terrible, wheezing gasp. It was fucking glorious. My heart was pounding with pure happiness, and I had to physically press my trembling hand against my chest to hide the triumph.

Then Killian moved.

He just launched himself across the table. His face wasn't cold; it was twisted into a look of sheer, panicked terror I had never, ever seen directed at anyone other than maybe his business rivals. He knew what was happening. He knew she had allergies.

And that's when my happiness turned to a sickening, cold fear. I didn't expect him to know what an allergic reaction looked like, and I certainly didn't expect that animalistic, possessive panic. He didn't just rush to her side; he roared for help, he was shouting for the doctor, and when the medical team arrived, he didn't move away. He stayed right there, cradling her head, his hands covered in her sweat and his own fear.

It wasn't the reaction of a man forced into a contract; it was the reaction of a man who was deeply, terrifyingly afraid of losing something.

I was shaking when I saw him lay her body on the floor. I wanted to help; I wanted to be the comforting one, but my plan had spun so out of control that I could only stand there, paralyzed. I hadn't meant for it to look like this. I just wanted her gone. I wanted her to be a liability.

When he finally started yelling, his voice a deafening, raw bellow that echoed off the ceiling, I was absolutely terrified. That rage wasn't aimed at me, but I knew, in that instant, that I had crossed a line that could destroy everything.

I kept my mouth shut while he screamed at Martha. I watched Martha, the loyal, rigid househelp, stand firm and swear the kitchen was clean. I knew Martha wasn't lying. I made sure the kitchen was clean. The poison was delivered after Martha had called it a night, after all the cleaning was done.

The moment he stormed out, leaving a trail of pure fury behind him, I felt a new wave of realization wash over me. I had achieved step one: isolation. Nova was now confined, terrifyingly vulnerable. But I had also revealed something important: Killian cares.

He cares far more than he should. He cares with a savagery that makes him dangerous.

I needed to be very, very careful now. The next step couldn't be clumsy; it had to be subtle. I had to let him think he was solving the problem. I had to make him believe that the danger was an external threat, maybe a disgruntled supplier or an accidental delivery.

I waited a moment until the kitchen staff had dispersed, all muttering nervously. I walked over to the nearest girl, composing my face into the picture of shock and concern.

"I can't believe this," I whispered, shaking my head. "It's awful. Please, make sure the doctor has everything he needs. I'm going to go... just sit down and try to calm down. I'll be in my room."

I left the dining room, walking slowly, deliberately, until I was safely out of sight. I hurried to my suite, locking the door. I walked over to the window and leaned against the cold glass, staring out at the garden.

My plan was still solid, but the execution had been messy. Nova was still here, and Killian’s guard was higher than ever. I had pushed the contract wife to the brink of death, and all I had achieved was forcing my beloved Killian to panic over her.

Never again would I try something so direct. I needed to let him cool down, let him handle the 'investigation,' and then I would start feeding him those subtle pieces of information. The ones that made Nova look like the dangerous one. The one who was hiding something. The one who was not worth the risk.

My hands were still shaking, not from fear of the police, but from the terrifying sight of Killian’s absolute focus on a woman who wasn't me. I looked at my reflection, fixing the perfect image of a caring, shell-shocked friend. The game was still on, but the stakes had just gone up.

Killian

I took the stairs two at a time, just running on pure adrenaline. My heart was still pounding in my throat. The initial rage had sort of collapsed into this awful, hollow feeling, just relief that she was alive and a desperate need to figure out what the hell happened. I didn't care about the staff I'd left terrified downstairs, or Tanya. I just needed to see Nova with my own eyes and confirm she was genuinely okay.