Chapter 4: The Waiting Game

LOGAN

My father rattled off updates about the overseas deal on the other end of the line, and I was only half listening, uninterested. I had already said my piece and suggested how to deal with the Smiths, but he preferred to take the long route and tolerate the disrespect as usual. Sometimes I wondered how he got to where he was.

Reclining in my seat, I scrolled through a document on my tablet with my free hand when there was a knock on the door. Looking up, I invited the person inside, and Stephen walked in, followed by her.

“Dad, I have to go. Talk to you later," I muttered into the phone before pulling it away from my ear. Stephen cleared his throat as my gaze returned to him. "Sir, Ms. Vera asked if she could help with your dinner tonight." I blinked. “She what?” She stepped forward, clearly nervous, hands clasped before her.

“I—I just thought maybe I could help. As a thank you. For… for taking me in and letting me stay here.” I stared at her, unable to conceal my surprise.

A few months ago, I made it abundantly clear that I had no interest in her or the baby. And she was so easily convinced that I had changed my mind? It had to be criminal to be this naive. It was almost comical, and I let out a quiet chuckle before shaking my head and waving my hand.

“Fine. She can do whatever she wants.” Her face lit up like I’d given her the world, and I watched as her eyes softened with what I assumed was hope.

She and Stephen both turned toward the door, but before they could get far, I called out, "Stephen." He came to a halt and returned my gaze. "Stay." He closed the door behind him, and I rose from my chair, rolling my neck as I walked around the desk.

"Have you followed all of my instructions?" I asked, not even trying to conceal the edge in my voice, and Stephen confirmed that he did.

Stephen had been with me for years, first as my bodyguard and then as my butler, but he was more than that. He was the only person in my life who fully understood how I worked and what I expected. I trusted him because I had seen him do worse things for me without hesitation.

"She ate everything, sir," he replied calmly. "The dosage was exactly what you specified. Should take full effect in a few hours, and she should sleep until the sun is high in the sky."

“Good." I exhaled. "The people for the baby will arrive first thing in the morning. Make sure they get the child and then..." I looked him in the eye. “Take care of her. I don’t want any loose ends. The last thing I need is her telling everyone about how she lost her baby."

Stephen didn’t flinch. “Understood.” We went over the details again, and he exited the room, returning to the kitchen as if nothing had happened. I returned to my desk, grabbed my glass of whiskey, and threw it back in one shot. The burn didn’t even register.

My mind drifted back to my father. He had few rules, but the ones he had were unbreakable. And the biggest one was never to impregnate anyone out of wedlock.

I despised the rule, and knowing what inspired it made it even worse. He was making me pay for his mistakes and punishing me for his sins, which was unfair. But he was still my father, and I couldn’t fight him.

If he found out about the child, he would force me to marry Vera or lose my place in the family, which I was not going to let happen. Nobody was going to force me to get married before I was ready. So I had to do what I needed to get rid of Vera and the child.

When I entered her room at the hospital and discovered that she was awake, I pondered whether she had heard me mention taking the baby away. However, her expression of gratitude just now indicated that she didn't.

On the day she begged me to accept the pregnancy, she told me that her father wanted her to give the baby away, and I made sure she understood the consequences of telling her family that the child was mine. I considered letting her father handle my issue, but I also questioned what if he did not succeed. What if he let Vera keep the child, and despite my warnings, Vera informed her family that the child was mine, and word got to my father? I couldn’t take that chance.

•••

MEANWHILE IN THE KITCHEN

VERA

My heart pounded so hard I could hear it as I walked toward the tray, ready to transport Logan's meal. Right beside it was an unopened bottle of wine with a glass next to it. It had to be Logan's.

With frantic hands, I reached for the bottle and uncorked it so quickly that the pop echoed louder than I intended. I flinched, glancing around the room, despite knowing I would have heard Stephen's footsteps if he was following behind.

When Logan asked him to stay behind, I realized I only had one chance to do what I needed to do.

I took the small pouch of crushed pain meds from my pocket, the edges damp from my sweaty palms, and dumped the contents into the bottle. My hands shook so violently that I almost missed the opening, leaving some powder on the bottle's neck, which I quickly wiped away, panicked.

Then I spun toward the glass at Stephen's end of the counter. It wasn’t wine; it looked like whiskey, probably the one he’d been sipping from as he cooked. I dumped the rest of the powder inside, not knowing why, because I was unsure if he lived here.

Sweat dripped down the side of my face, soaking into the collar of my pajamas as I dunked my forefinger into the glass of whiskey and stirred in frantic circles, watching the powder swirl at the surface before slowly disappearing.

It was taking too long, and I didn’t even stop to look over my shoulder. I kept stirring until it dissolved, and the liquid looked like before. Then I wiped the countertop with my bare hands, clumsy and desperate to remove any evidence of what I had done.

Finally, I returned to the wine bottle, grabbed it, and carefully placed it on the tray, lining up the glass next to it. My heartbeat was still racing. What if Stephen disliked the fact that I opened it? What if he found it strange? But then I remembered that he had no idea I knew about Logan's plan. He had no reason to suspect anything as long as I remained calm and pretended to be the naive girl attempting to prepare dinner for her baby's father.

At that moment, Stephen’s shoes echoed down the hallway, and I straightened immediately, wiping my hands down the front of my pajama top while forcing the wild panic in my chest to settle. Please let me be right, I prayed quietly. Please let him have the wine.

Stephen walked in and gave me a half-smile, and I smiled back, or tried to, with my lips barely moving.

"I opened the wine and placed it on the tray," I said quickly, hoping my tone didn't reveal how fast my heart beat. He nodded without looking at me, and I said I hoped that was okay. “The only thing left is the salad. He prefers a light lemon dressing, nothing too heavy. I’ll show you how to make it,” I exhaled quietly and moved to the counter as he rattled off the ingredients.

My fingers moved almost instinctively, chopping, tossing, and mixing, but soon everything around me felt heavy and slow, and my head buzzed slightly, forcing me to blink a few times to keep my focus.

Perhaps the medications were wearing off, and the exhaustion was returning. I needed something to give me a boost; otherwise, they would not even need to drug me.

I forced myself to persevere, tossing the salad one last time before taking a step back, done. Stephen nodded his approval, and we both reached for the tray. He picked up most of it, and I carried the salad bowl, following him down the hallway that seemed to stretch further than I remembered.

My arms felt like lead, and my knees were too loose beneath me, but I pushed through. When we arrived at the dining room, Logan was already seated, and his gaze shifted to the tray as Stephen and I set everything down before him.

My gaze lingered briefly on the wine bottle and the glass beside it. It looked normal and harmless, and I turned to him, offering a small, polite smile, my voice soft as I said, “Enjoy.” He looked at me with an unreadable expression and didn’t say anything.

He was such an animal that he couldn’t even say thank you, and I pivoted quickly, heading out of the room.

“Now begins the waiting game.