Chapter 92 - The Poisoned Well
Before Charlotte could respond, my phone vibrated frantically in my evening clutch. It was an urgent signal from the private medical team guarding Noah and Sophie at our secured residence in Kensington.
"Victoria! Get back here now!" Marcus's panicked voice blared through the comms. "Noah just collapsed! He was poisoned!"
The world stopped spinning. Every drop of blood drained from my face.
I bolted out of the Mayfair mansion, tearing off my lace mask, sprinting into the rainy London night where Ethan’s black SUV slammed to a halt at the curb.
"Noah!" I gasped, leaping into the passenger seat.
Ethan floored the accelerator, his knuckles white as snow on the steering wheel, running every red light across London.
By the time we burst into the Kensington residence, emergency doctors were administering antidotes to nine-year-old Noah. He lay pale on the bed, his breathing shallow, while little Sophie sat crying in the corner, clutching her stuffed bunny.
"It was a localized neurotoxin," the lead doctor reported, holding up a small glass vial. "Introduced through the mansion's central water filtration unit twenty minutes ago."
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Ethan turned to the wall, slamming his fist into the plaster with such violent force the drywall cracked. "Julian!" he roared, his eyes bloodshot with pure, unadulterated rage. "He tried to kill my son!"
"No," I said, my voice dropping into a terrifying, deadly calm as I wiped a tear from my eye and held my unconscious son's hand. "He didn't want to kill Noah. He wanted us desperate. He wanted us to make a mistake. But he just signed his own death warrant."
