All Chapters of The Antidote To His Ruin : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Suzan's POVBy noon, I had learned that Eric Northman was dangerously good at getting people to talk.Not because he interrogated them. He didn't. Eric made people comfortable. He listened, smiled at the right moments, and asked questions that sounded entirely harmless. And somehow, before they realized what had happened, they were telling him things they probably shouldn't.Which was exactly why I had sent him after Lizzy.I sat behind my desk in the study, scrolling through the message he'd sent me earlier:Found her.A second message followed immediately:And before you ask, yes, she's talking.I stared at the screen. Then another message appeared:Also, she's prettier up close.I rolled my eyes. Of course.I typed back: Focus, Northman.His response came almost immediately: I am focused. Very focused.I sighed and dropped my phone onto the desk. That man was impossible. Yet, involuntarily, a small smile touched my lips.It disappeared almost as quickly when the door opened.Eric

Suzan's POV The absolute courtesy in his voice and words caught me completely off guard. "No," I blurted out, almost choking on the word.He paused, his chest rising as he took a slow, measured breath. I could see the immense, excruciating effort it took for him to keep his jaw set, to keep his hands from shaking at his sides."I didn't mean to interrupt," he said smoothly."You didn't."A beat of heavy, agonizing silence passed between the three of us.Draven gave a single, small nod. "Clearly."The word landed like a physical blow, heavy and precise.Eric glanced at me, taking in my pale face and my ragged breathing. Then, mercifully, he took another step toward the door, giving us space. "I'll give you two a minute." He said with an easy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.If anything, I love how Eric makes everything easy. I could see his effort in trying not to make things more difficult on me than they already were, especially when it comes to the things that had to do

Draven’s POVThe door swung inward silently. And then my world came to an absolute, violent halt.For one suspended, sickening second, my brain refused to process the scene unfolding in front of me.Eric Northman was standing against the edge of the mahogany desk, his tall frame pressed intimately close to Suzan. His broad hand was resting flush against the bare skin of her waist where her blouse had ridden up. Her body was arched toward him, her hands resting against his chest, her head tilted back.Their lips had clearly just parted. Their breaths were mingled in the narrow sliver of space remaining between their faces.There was zero distance between them. None.I froze on the threshold, my hand paralyzed on the doorknob.Something inside my chest didn't shatter, shattering implied noise, drama, resistance. It simply dropped. Heavy. Ice-cold. Absolute.I had spent the entire drive from Midtown torturing myself with imaginary scenarios of them together. But imagining it was a faint

Suzan’s POVEmerald’s rapid-fire questions continued unabated as we navigated Midtown traffic. Why were the taxis bright yellow? Why did people in suits walk like they were running away from a fire? Why did New York have so many tiny dogs? The whys kept flooding.Eric answered every single question with a straight face and utterly ridiculous confidence.Sarah also answered a few, especially the ones directed at her directly whenever Emerald sees a woman she feels was her age walking through the walkway with a large tote bag hung to their shoulders.At one point, Emerald pointed out a man walking down a street with a sign that read Seventh Avenue wearing neon running shorts despite the crisp autumn chill. "Why is he not wearing pants?"Eric replied smoothly, "Confidence, Professor. Pure, unadulterated confidence."I nearly choked on my breath. "That is not an educational answer, Eric!""It is the truest answer you will ever hear in New York City," he countered.Emerald nodded solemnly

Cassandra’s POV“No.”The word tore out of me before I could stop it.The paper slipped from my trembling fingers and floated face-up onto the dark marble desk.For several agonizing seconds, I simply stared at it. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Couldn't even blink.The numbers printed at the bottom of the clinical report seemed to blur beneath the harsh glare of the desk lamp, but there was no mistaking what they meant.Probability of Paternity: 99.99%.My fingers curled tightly into the edge of the mahogany desk until my knuckles turned stark white.“No,” I repeated, quieter this time. As if saying it with less panic could somehow rewrite genetic code.It didn't.Draven was Emerald's father.Draven Sterling, the man whose legacy I had painstakingly attached myself to for five years, was the biological father of Suzan's daughter.My stomach twisted into a violent knot.For five years, I had watched Draven mourn the woman he believed had abandoned him. For five years, I had all