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THE BILLIONAIRE’S CHOSEN BRIDE: THE MAID WHO STOLE THE EMPIRE / Chapter 3 / 6

Chapter 3 - Poisoned Elegance

Three months passed. The wedding had been a quiet, private affair, much to the fury of the high-society tabloids. Elena was no longer dressed in rags; she now wore elegant silks and diamonds, but she still spent her days playing on the floor with Liam, whose speech and walking were improving by leaps and bounds.

Alexander, too, was changing. The cold, unapproachable billionaire was softening. He found himself coming home early just to watch Elena read to Liam. More than once, his gaze lingered on her lips, and the cold contractual boundaries they had set felt increasingly fragile.

However, high society was not done with them. The annual Whitman Charity Gala was approaching, and as the new Mrs. Whitman, Elena had to host it.

On the night of the gala, the mansion was packed with hundreds of wealthy guests, all waiting to see the "Maid Countess" fail. Sofia, dressed in another stunning emerald gown, approached Elena at the drink station with a sweet, disarming smile.

"Elena, darling," Sofia said, her voice dripping with honey. "I must apologize for my behavior at the dinner months ago. I was shocked, that's all. You look absolutely radiant tonight. Let’s bury the hatchet. A toast?"

Sofia handed Elena a glass of champagne. Elena, wanting to maintain peace for Alexander's sake, accepted it. "Thank you, Sofia. I appreciate the gesture."

Elena took a sip. It tasted slightly bitter, but she dismissed it as an expensive vintage she wasn't used to.

An hour later, as Alexander was introducing Elena to a group of international investors, the room began to spin. Elena’s chest tightened, and a sharp, burning pain flared in her stomach. She gasped for air, her face turning pale.

"Elena? What's wrong?" Alexander asked, his hand instantly supporting her waist.

"I... I can't breathe, Alex..." Elena whispered before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed into his arms, unconscious.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

Chaos erupted. Alexander screamed for an ambulance, lifting his wife in his arms, his heart hammering against his ribs in absolute terror. He realized in that horrific moment that this was no longer just a contract. He loved her.

As the ambulance rushed Elena to the hospital, Sofia stood in the corner of the ballroom, sipping her champagne with a cold, triumphant smile. She whipped out her phone and sent a text to an unknown number: The first dose is delivered. She won't survive the week.

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