Chapter 3: The Poisoned Guardian
The revelation struck Owen like a physical blow.
He wasn’t naturally dying. He was being murdered.
And the killer was someone who had access to his medical prescriptions, his home, and his daily routine.
“Who else knew about Dr. Harris’s treatment plan?” Sarah asked, her voice a frantic whisper.
“Julian,” Owen muttered, his mind racing through the past six months. “Julian introduced me to Dr. Harris. He insisted Harris was the best cardiologist in the country. And Martha... Martha administers my morning pills.”
Owen looked over at Hannah, sleeping peacefully on the sofa. His daughter. The child he thought he had saved was actually his own blood. Clara had hidden her to protect her from the cutthroat Faulkner family, but fate—or something darker—had brought her back to him.
“We go to the police,” Sarah said, reaching for the phone.
“No,” Owen stopped her, his grip firm. “Julian has the police in his pocket. If we strike now without airtight proof of who is administering the poison, they will slip away, and they will target Hannah next. We play their game. We pretend I am still dying.”
The Traitor in the House
When they returned to the mansion, Owen’s perspective had entirely shifted. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat.
The next morning, Martha walked into the dining room with Owen’s breakfast tray and his daily pill organizer.
“Your medication, Mr. Faulkner,” Martha said, her eyes downcast.
Owen looked at the small blue pill. For six months, he had trusted this woman. She had been like a mother to him. Was she in on it, or was she an unwitting pawn?
“Thank you, Martha. Leave it on the table. I’ll take it with my coffee.”
As soon as Martha left the room, Owen picked up the pill and slipped it into a small plastic bag in his pocket. He then took a harmless sugar pill he had prepared earlier.
Suddenly, Hannah slipped into the dining room. She was wearing a new, simple blue dress, but her eyes were still wide and cautious. She slid into the seat next to him.
“You didn’t eat your breakfast,” she noted, pointing to his untouched eggs.
“I’m not very hungry today, sweetheart.”
Hannah looked around the massive, silent dining room, then leaned closer to Owen. “The lady who brings the pills... she goes into your study when you’re not there.”
Owen’s muscles tensed. “Martha?”
Hannah nodded. “She opens the big desk drawer. She talks on her phone. She says, 'He is getting weaker. It won't be long now.' She sounded sad, but she still did it.”
Owen’s heart hammered—not from his illness, but from the sheer adrenaline of betrayal. Martha knew.
“Hannah,” Owen said, taking her small hands in his. “I need you to do something very important for me. It’s a game of hide-and-seek, but we can’t let anyone know we are playing.”
She nodded instantly, her survival instincts kicking in. “What do I do?”
“If you see anyone touch my medicine, or if you hear anyone talking about me on the phone, do not say a word to them. You come straight to me. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Father,” she whispered.
The word Father sent a wave of warmth through Owen’s chest. For the first time in years, he felt a fierce, burning desire to live. He had to survive. For her.
The Trap is Set
That afternoon, Owen called a surprise meeting at the Faulkner headquarters. He arrived looking intentionally weak, using a cane and coughing occasionally to play the part of a dying man.
Julian sat at the opposite end of the table, a barely concealed smirk on his face.
“I have called this meeting to announce a major change to my estate,” Owen announced, his voice raspy. “I am drafting a new will. In the event of my passing, eighty percent of my personal wealth and all controlling shares of Faulkner Enterprises will be placed in a trust for my daughter, Hannah.”
The room erupted. Directors began shouting.
Julian stood up, slamming his hands on the table. “This is madness! You cannot leave an empire to a street child! I will contest this!”
“You can try, Julian,” Owen said, leaning back, feigning a sudden shortness of breath. “But the paperwork is already signed and notarized. The trust will be managed by an independent third party—Dr. Sarah Lin. You will receive a minor consultancy fee, and nothing more.”
Owen watched Julian’s face turn from arrogant triumph to sheer, murderous desperation.
I have pushed him to the edge, Owen thought. Now, he will make his move.
The Chapter 3 Cliffhanger: Late that night, the mansion went dead silent. Owen lay awake in his bed, holding a small voice recorder.
Suddenly, his bedroom door creaked open. A shadow slipped inside, holding a syringe.
Owen held his breath, pretending to sleep. The figure approached his bedside, raising the needle. But before the needle could touch Owen’s arm, the lights flicked on.
May you like
Standing in the doorway was Hannah, holding a heavy silver candle holder. But the person holding the syringe wasn't Julian, and it wasn't Martha.
It was Dr. Harris.
