CHAPTER FOUR

The dining room of the Brown estate felt stifling. I sat alone at the far end of the long table while Eleanor and Selena entertained the senior investors. Dominic sat at the head of the table, occasionally joining the conversation, oblivious to the mocking glances and quiet amusement aimed in my direction. 

"The European market requires a specific touch," Eleanor remarked. "Some people are built for high-stakes diplomacy. Others are barely equipped to manage a simple seating chart."

A low chuckle rippled through the table. Selena smiled softly, leaning over to whisper something into Dominic’s ear. He didn't pull away. He just smiled, a relaxed, easy expression he had never given me in six years of marriage.

"Dominic," I whispered, my voice tight as I leaned toward him, my hand clenching under the table. "I am not feeling well. Please, let's leave."

Dominic didn't even turn his head. He took a slow sip of his wine. "You just got here, Bianca. Stop being difficult. It’s an important night for the family."

"Family?" Selena purred, lifting a crystal pitcher from the center of the table. "Here, Bianca. Have some iced tea. It will calm your nerves. You look incredibly tense."

She poured the dark liquid into my glass with a flawless, innocent smile. I didn't want anything from her hands, but the heat in the room was making my throat dry. Desperate to mask the tremble in my fingers, I lifted the glass and took a deep swallow.

It tasted faintly bitter, with a metallic aftertaste, but I swallowed it anyway.

Less than two minutes later, a burning sensation spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. My vision blurred, the brilliant chandeliers above stretching into distorted streaks of light. I tried to inhale, but my chest felt like it was being crushed.

"Dominic..." I gasped, my hand blindly reaching out, knocking over my silver fork. It clattered loudly against the porcelain plate.

"Bianca, enough," Eleanor snapped. "Must you always draw attention to yourself when you feel ignored? It’s pathetic."

"Dominic, please, I clutched his arm, my fingernails digging into his sleeve. "Something is... wrong. I can’t breathe."

Dominic finally turned to look at me, his eyes thick with deep irritation and exhaustion. He peeled my fingers off his arm with a firm, cold grip.

"Bianca, stop this performance," he whispered harshly, his voice tight with embarrassment as the investors stopped talking to watch us. "Faking a medical emergency because you can't handle Selena being at the table is beneath you. Go to the restroom and compose yourself, or take a cab home."

Faking? The word shattered the last remaining piece of my spirit. I was suffocating right in front of him, and he thought it was a temper tantrum.

I stumbled out of my chair, the room spinning violently. Selena watched me, her innocent expression perfectly intact for the table, but the sickening satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable.

I forced my legs to move, staggering out of the dining room and down the grand hallway. My lungs refused to open. My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the cold floor of the corridor, darkness rushing in to claim me.

"Mrs. Brown!"

A panicked voice echoed above me. Through my fading vision, I saw Margaret, the senior housekeeper, rushing toward me. She touched my cold face, her hands trembling. She looked back toward the dining room, where the laughter and chatter continued completely uninterrupted. They weren't coming.

Realizing the family was completely ignoring me, Margaret's quiet caution turned into desperate panic. She grabbed my clutch bag, pulled out my phone, and frantically scrolled through the contacts until she found the one name she knew would answer.

She pressed the dial, lifting the phone to her ear as I took another agonizing, shallow breath.

"Miss Kane!" Margaret wept into the receiver, her voice shaking. "Please... you need to help her. It's Mrs. Brown. She's been poisoned at the estate dinner, and the family refuses to call for help. I'm smuggling her out through the side entrance right now, but she's losing consciousness."

On the other end of the line, a sharp, fierce voice exploded with sudden, protective fury.

"I'm sending my private medical team to meet you at the secondary clinic now," Olivia commanded, her words cutting through Margaret's panic like ice. "Get her out of that house, Margaret. Don't let a single Brown touch her. I'm on my way."