Chapter 10
At the Whitmore family estate...
Darkness had settled over the grounds. Victoria lounged in the parlor, draped in a satin negligee, awaiting Theodore's return.
In her prime, she'd been the epitome of southern elegance, adored by Benjamin to the point of never needing to lift a manicured finger. After his passing, she'd married Theodore, who not only inherited Benjamin's empire but tripled its worth. As a society matron with flawless skincare routines, she remained striking decades later.
The grand foyer doors swung open as a maid ushered Theodore inside.
Victoria's face brightened instantly. She hurried to assist him with his tailored jacket. "Darling, what kept you so late?"
Unlike Benjamin's quiet sincerity, Theodore had always been rakishly charming. Now as CEO, his commanding presence made Victoria weak in the knees.
"Board meeting ran long," he dismissed.
As he spoke, Victoria caught the distinct floral notes of his assistant's perfume clinging to his collar.
Her smile vanished. "That little secretary again?"
Theodore's expression darkened. "Must we do this every night? Instead of these hysterics, perhaps focus on comforting Isabella? She's devastated Dr. Sinclair refused her case." He moved toward the staircase. "I'm exhausted."
Victoria's voice stopped him cold. "I've secured Dr. Sinclair for Isabella."
Theodore froze mid-step, spinning back with sudden warmth. He pulled her close. "My brilliant Victoria. You never disappoint. My greatest treasure."
No one played Victoria's heartstrings like Theodore.
She melted against him, pouting. "On one condition—that secretary gets fired tomorrow."
"Consider it done," he agreed instantly. Then without warning, he swept her into his arms.
Her cheeks flushed as silk slid to reveal lace beneath. "I thought you were tired?"
Theodore's grin turned wolfish. "Not when my wife wears this."
She swatted his shoulder. "You're impossible."
He carried her upstairs, chuckling. "And you love it."
The next afternoon found Harrison in her loft when Victoria called.
"Darling," came the uncharacteristically sweet tone. "I was wrong at the hospital. I've made all your childhood favorites. Come home for supper."
From the kitchenette, Gabrielle hissed, "Don't go! She's Theodore's puppet. At her age, still playing the blushing bride—pathetic."
Harrison's voice remained flat. "I'm busy." She moved to hang up.
Victoria rushed on, "Your father buried a vintage Bordeaux when you were born—to be opened when you came of age. I've unearthed it."
Harrison's breath caught. Victoria always knew which strings to pull.
The Whitmore mansion stood eerily quiet when Harrison arrived. Only Victoria waited beside a lavish spread and the dust-caked bottle labeled in Benjamin's uneven script: For My Harrison.
Her rough-handed, self-made father had adored her—unlike polished Theodore with his university pedigree. Harrison traced the faded ink, throat tight.
Victoria glowed with unnatural energy as she poured two glasses. "To new beginnings."
Harrison didn't lift hers. "How did Father really die?"
Victoria's hand jerked, wine sloshing. "I've told you—illness. You wouldn't understand—you're not a doctor!"
Harrison drained her glass in one bitter swallow. She'd uncover the truth.
As she stood to leave, a stranger blocked the doorway—Gregory from the Vitalis Health Center, leering like a starved wolf.
Victoria's mask slipped. "Harrison, sleep with Dr. Whalen, and Isabella gets Dr. Sinclair."
Heat exploded through Harrison's veins. The wine—drugged.
Her vision blurred with unshed tears. After everything, this?
Victoria avoided her gaze, shoving Gregory forward. "She's yours."
The moment Victoria left, Gregory lunged—only to collapse unconscious from Harrison's hidden sedative.
But the drug raged through her. Her emergency acupuncture needles—gone, likely discarded by Beatrice during her absence.
Stumbling to Benjamin's old study, she tore through drawers as the world spun.
Footsteps echoed in the hall.
Nathaniel?
The door burst open.
A burning body crashed into Nathaniel's arms.