Chapter 4 - The Poisoner’s Return
The front heavy iron doors of the estate swung open with a deep, echoing thud.
Rain lashed against the stone pillars outside as Celeste walked into the grand foyer, shaking out her wet mink coat. She was breathtaking—tall, slender, with golden hair pinned back in an elegant French twist and striking blue eyes that could melt a boardroom or freeze an enemy in a single second.
"Adrian?" her voice echoed melodiously through the empty high-ceilinged hallway. "Darling! Vincent called and said you weren't feeling well! What happened?"
I stood at the top of the grand double staircase, shrouded in the shadows of the balcony, watching her every movement.
She dropped her coat onto the bench, her eyes instantly darting toward the dining room doorway to our right. A subtle, almost imperceptible twitch of her lip revealed her intent: she was checking to see if the table was cleared, if the ambulance had been called, if my body had been found.
"I'm up here, Celeste," I said flatly.
She flinched—just a fraction of an inch—before recovering her dazzling, radiant smile. She looked up at the balcony, placing a hand over her heart.
"Oh! You scared me!" She laughed, ascending the stairs with graceful, hurried steps. "Vincent sounded so panicked on the phone. He said you were having chest pains!"
"Did he?" I asked, stepping out of the shadows into the warm glow of the chandelier.
Celeste reached the top stair and stepped toward me, her arms opening for an embrace. She smelled of expensive jasmine perfume and crisp rain. But as she drew close, my hand reached out and caught her gently by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
Her smile faltered slightly. "Adrian? What's wrong?"
"Your wrist is trembling, Celeste," I said softly, holding her arm firmly. "And your skin is cold. Were you really at the spa?"
"Of course I was!" She let out a nervous, airy chuckle, trying to pull her arm back, but my grip was like steel. "I have the receipt in my purse! Adrian, you're hurting me—"
"Vincent found your black access card behind the service cabinet in the west corridor," I interrupted, my voice smooth, cold, and utterly devoid of emotion. "The magnetic strip had fresh scrapes on it. Used eleven minutes before I walked through the front door."
Celeste went rigid. The warmth in her bright blue eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a calculating, dangerous stillness.
"You didn't drink the water," she whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a cold, bitter realization.
"No," I replied, releasing her wrist. "Lily noticed the scratch on the glass. The scratch you made two weeks ago when you dropped it in the pantry."
May you like
Celeste took a slow step backward toward the top of the staircase, her hand slipping stealthily into the pocket of her tailored trousers.
"You always were too meticulous for your own good, Adrian," she said, her voice dropping all pretense of affection, turning raspy and sharp. "Just like your pathetic father."
