“If you divorce her now, the prenuptial agreement leaves you with nothing,” Beatrice said sharply. “But if she dies during childbirth and the children survive, you control everything as guardian.”
“She is fragile,” Adrian replied impatiently. “Emotional. Weak. Olivia is tired of hiding.”
“Then let nature intervene,” Beatrice answered coldly. “Continue the supplements I prepared. A slight disturbance in blood clotting during labor would be tragic, but not suspicious.”
My blood turned to ice.
That evening, instead of swallowing the herbal capsules Beatrice insisted upon, I opened them and replaced their contents with sugar. I poured the liquid tonic she brewed nightly into a planter of white hydrangeas on the balcony. By dawn, the leaves were blackened and shriveled.
I did not confront them.
I contacted Dr. Bennett, my father’s longtime friend, who analyzed the capsules. “These compounds increase hemorrhage risk significantly,” he told me in horror. “They intend for you to bleed out during delivery.”
“Then we let them believe they succeeded,” I replied. “But only long enough for the law to close around them.”