The tension in the east wing of Grayhaven House had a weight you could feel in your teeth.

My throat constricted, and a wave of nausea washed over my stomach so suddenly I had to grab the edge of the supply shelf to keep from falling. My vision blurred for three terrifying seconds, my heart spiking into an erratic, frantic fluttering.

I spat onto a cleaning rag, rinsing my mouth furiously with water from a spray bottle, my chest heaving.

It wasn't heart medication. It was digoxin toxicity—a concentrated digitalis derivative. In small doses, it caused heart arrhythmias, nausea, confusion, and extreme fatigue—the exact symptoms Damian had been suffering from for months. In a slightly higher dose, it would trigger a massive, untraceable cardiac arrest that any doctor would write off as natural organ failure in a frail, bedridden man.

They weren't just poisoning him. They were executing him in slow motion, right under the noses of his guards.

I wiped my mouth, my trembling hands clutching the tiny specimen jar now hidden deep inside my apron pocket. I took three deep breaths, forced my face back into a mask of timid composure, and picked up the tray.

When I re-entered Damian’s bedroom, he was lying still, his eyes closed, his face pale in the dim light of the afternoon storm rolling in over Baltimore.

I closed the door behind me and threw the heavy brass deadbolt.

Damian’s eyes snapped open instantly. The weakness disappeared from his gaze the moment the lock clicked. He sat up, pushing the heavy covers aside, his gray eyes fixing on the glass in my hands.

“You took too long,” he rasped.

“Your doctor tried to send this up with you,” I whispered, walking over to his bed and setting the glass down on the nightstand far out of his reach. “I tested it.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly. “You drank it?”

“I touched a drop to my tongue,” I said, wiping my mouth again with the back of my hand. “It burns like copper and salt. It’s digitalis, Mr. Volkov. High concentration. It’s causing your heart to beat out of sync.”

Damian stared at the amber liquid, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles in his neck stood out like wires. He reached out, took the glass, and smashed it against the stone fireplace.

The crystal shattered into a hundred glittering pieces, the poisoned liquid sizzling against the hot iron grate.

“Harrison,” Damian spat, his voice laced with pure venom. “I brought that bastard into my house ten years ago. I paid off his gambling debts in Atlantic City. I saved his daughter’s life!”

“He’s not working alone,” I reminded him, stepping closer to the bed. “Harrison doesn't have the courage to do this by himself. He takes orders from someone inside Grayhaven. Someone who promises to protect him once you’re dead.”

Damian looked up at me. The coldness in his eyes was terrifying, but behind it, I saw something else—a deep, profound betrayal. A man who had built an empire on loyalty was realizing that every wall around him was built of sand.

“Viktor,” he whispered softly, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.

“We need proof,” I said. “If you accuse Viktor now, his guards control the house. They control the gates. They control the weapons. You won't make it out of this room alive.”

“Then what do you propose, housekeeper?” Damian asked, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees. “I am trapped in my own bed, forced to play a corpse while my lieutenant carves up my city.”

Before I could answer, a soft knock echoed against the locked door.

“Mara?” Mrs. Bell’s voice called through the wood. “Mara, open up! There’s a gentleman from the city here. He says he’s from Child Protective Services!”

My blood turned to ice.

The tray in my hands trembled. I looked at Damian, my breath catching in my throat.

“CPS?” I whispered, terror rising in my chest like a tidal wave. “No... no, I didn't... how would anyone know Lila was here?”

Damian’s eyes turned razor-sharp. He didn't panic; his tactical mind instantly clicked into gear.

“Viktor,” Damian said flatly. “He saw your child. He knows she’s your weak spot. If he takes her, he controls you. And if he controls you, he controls what goes into my stomach.”