Silas tried to rise, but his muscles refused. He felt paralysis tightening around him, moving through his veins like poison. Panic bloomed. He had rehearsed stillness for five minutes. He had not rehearsed losing control. This was not part of the plan.
The heels moved around him in slow circles. Tiffany studied him like merchandise.
“Months of preparation,” she said. “A drop here. A drop there. In your morning smoothie. In your evening tea. Little by little until your body started failing. And tonight, we give it one last nudge.”
Her heel tapped his shoulder as if brushing off lint.
She continued. “Tomorrow, the vows. Then the tragic honeymoon incident. A grieving widow inherits the empire. It certainly pays better than being a runaway fiancée who got bored of waiting.”
Silas’s vision flickered. His thoughts scattered like the shards of glass beneath him.
The sound of a door opening broke Tiffany’s moment of triumph. The scent of citrus cleaner and lavender entered first, followed by Janette Reyes, the estate’s cleaning lady. She hummed while pushing a cart and came in to tidy up before the storm knocked out the power. She froze when she saw Silas on the floor.