Chapter 4
The doors to Bastian’s private study locked behind them with a heavy, definitive metallic thud. Unlike the luminous, airy dining hall, this room was a fortress of dark mahogany, wall-to-wall books, and shadowed corners. The only light came from a green glass banker’s lamp on the massive desk.
Bastian set the watch down on a silver tray, well out of reach. He turned to Audrey, who was already kneeling in front of one of the leather armchairs, rolling up Felix’s sleeve to inspect the boy’s wrist under the lamplight.
“Does it hurt, Felix?” Audrey asked softly, her thumb gently brushing the delicate skin. There was a faint red rectangular outline where the patch had pressed against him.
“No. It just felt scratchy,” Felix mumbled, rubbing his eyes. The adrenaline of the evening was fading, leaving the child exhausted and confused.
“Is his skin broken, Audrey?” Bastian asked, stepping closer. He loomed over them, a dark, protective monolith in his three-piece suit.
Audrey squinted at the faint red mark. “No, sir. I don't see any puncture wounds. I believe the patch requires direct, prolonged body heat to activate the micro-needles. Felix’s wrist was too small for it to make firm contact, and the fabric of his cuff provided a partial barrier.”
Bastian watched her intently. The loose strands of wavy hair over his forehead cast sharp shadows over his cold eyes. “Where did a housemaid learn the activation requirements for a micro-needle chemical patch?”
Audrey carefully rolled Felix’s sleeve back down, buttoning the cuff with steady hands. She knew this question was coming. “My father was a pharmaceutical researcher, sir. I grew up in laboratories. I know what medical delivery systems look like.”
“Why is a pharmaceutical researcher’s daughter scrubbing my floors, Audrey?” Bastian asked, tilting his head slightly. The small neck tattoo just above his collar shifted with the movement.
“My father passed away with immense debt,” Audrey replied, standing up to face him. Despite her modest black dress and white apron, she held herself with a quiet, undeniable dignity. “This job pays extremely well, Mr. Wells, and it provides a safe roof over my head. I have no ulterior motives.”
Bastian stepped into her personal space. He smelled of expensive cologne, dark tobacco, and danger. “Are you always this observant?”
“I try to be, sir. It is my job to ensure everything in your home is perfect.”
“Would a perfect maid have interrupted a billionaire’s birthday dinner to accuse his fiancée of attempted murder?” Bastian asked softly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet study.
“I didn't accuse her, sir,” Audrey countered gently. “I only pointed out a hazard to your son.”
Before Bastian could ask another question, the heavy oak door of the study opened after a rapid series of knocks. Silas, Bastian’s towering head of security, stepped in. His face was grim, a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor. He carried a small, sealed evidence bag.
“Are the guests gone, Silas?” Bastian asked, not turning around immediately, keeping his gaze locked on Audrey for a second longer before facing his man.
“They’ve been cleared out, boss,” Silas confirmed. “We locked Celine in the holding room downstairs. She’s a mess. But you need to see this. We ran a rapid scan on the patch residue.”
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“What exactly was my fiancée trying to give me?” Bastian inquired, his jaw clenching tight enough to make his sharp jawline jut out.
Silas held up the bag. “It’s a synthetic aconitine derivative. Untraceable by standard toxicology. If that patch had touched your pulse point, your heart would have stopped in under three minutes.”
