Chapter 4 - Poison In The Wine
Julian felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The betrayal was an intricate, poisonous web spun right beside him. For seven years, Victoria had played the role of the devoted, patient partner, caring for him, managing his legal battles, slowly convincing him to alter his will and trust documents. She had spent seven years waiting for him to wither away so she and Richard could claim the entirety of the Sterling fortune.
“Where is Victoria now?” Julian asked, his voice dangerously even.
“She’s downstairs in the primary guest suite,” Marcus said. “She called an emergency board meeting for ten o’clock this morning. She’s claiming you suffered a severe neurological seizure at the gala and that the emotional shock of an illegitimate child has rendered you mentally unstable. She’s preparing to invoke the company's emergency succession clause.”
Before Julian could answer, the heavy double doors of the study pushed open. Victoria stood framed in the doorway, looking impeccably styled in a tailored cream suit, holding a silver tray with a porcelain cup of steaming herbal tea. Her face wore an expression of delicate, sorrowful concern.
“Julian, darling,” she purred softly, stepping into the room with an easy, practiced grace. “I saw the lights on. You shouldn't be pacing like this. Dr. Evans said your sudden muscle contraction was an adrenaline anomaly. You could cause irreversible spinal hemorrhaging if you keep walking without support.”
Julian stood tall behind his desk, not moving an inch toward his wheelchair. “Is that what Dr. Evans told you, Victoria? Or is that what you hoped he would say?”
Victoria paused, her smile wavering for a fraction of a second before her mask of affectionate worry snapped back into place. “I only want what's best for you, sweetheart. You've had a traumatic night. Bringing an unknown child into this house, letting social media invent absurd fairytales... it’s dangerous for your health and catastrophic for the company's stock.” She walked toward him and placed the tea cup onto the desk. “Drink your chamomile tea. It will calm your nerves before the board arrives.”
Julian looked down at the fragrant tea. For seven years, Victoria had brought him that exact tea every evening and morning. He had drunk it religiously, trusting her completely.
“You know, Victoria,” Julian said quietly, his voice dangerously smooth, “when Sofie told me to stand up, I didn't just feel my legs wake up. I felt my mind clear. For years, I felt constant brain fog, chronic exhaustion, sudden spasms that kept me pinned to that chair. My doctors claimed it was post-trauma syndrome.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed slightly, her hand subtly tensing. “Julian, you're becoming paranoid. Drink your tea.”
Julian didn't touch the cup. Instead, he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a small glass vial, and carefully poured three drops of the tea into it, sealing the cap. He handed the vial to Marcus, who slipped it into his breast pocket.
“Marcus is taking this directly to an independent forensic lab at Columbia University,” Julian said, taking a deliberate, menacing step around the desk toward her. He was six feet two inches tall, broad-shouldered, and standing on his own two feet. The sheer physical presence of the man she had dominated in a wheelchair for seven years made Victoria instinctively stumble backward.
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“What... what are you doing?” she stammered, her voice losing its polished composure.
“I’m wondering what kind of slow-acting neurotoxin they’ll find in this cup,” Julian whispered, leaning down until his eyes were inches from hers. “And I’m wondering how much Richard promised you when the plane went down in the Rockies.”
