16. Say It All
Chapter sixteen
Say It All
Isat motionless on the edge of the king-sized mattress.
The quiet in the master bedroom was broken only by the distant hum of the central heating vents.
I kept my eyes fixed on the hallway entrance, waiting for the inevitable interruption.
Minutes ticked by in an agonizing crawl. Then, the brass doorknob turned.
The door swung inward. The rich, savory scent of roasted chicken broth wafted across the threshold, cutting through the sterile air of the bedroom. Marta stepped inside, balancing a wide silver tray in her hands.
A deep ceramic bowl sat in the center of the metal surface, thick plumes of steam rising from the golden liquid. A small side salad rested next to a folded linen napkin. She crossed the Persian rug and approached the bed.
I shifted my legs to give her space. She leaned over the mattress and lowered the tray directly across my lap. The heat radiated through the solid base, sinking straight through my cotton loungewear and warming my thighs. The mundane domesticity of the gesture felt surreal.
“Here is your lunch, Mrs. Stanton,” Marta said. She adjusted the silverware next to the bowl, offering a warm smile. “Your husband told me to make sure you ate every last bite to keep your strength up.”
He told her to make sure I ate it. The sheer cowardice of Tobias using this innocent woman to deliver the poison turned my stomach.
He was setting her up to take the fall for a fatal allergic reaction, and she had no idea.
I kept my hands folded over the bedsheets, fighting the primal urge to shove the metal away.
Marta lingered beside the bed, her brow creasing with genuine concern. “You look exhausted, Mrs. Stanton,” she added. “Should I prop up another pillow for you?”
I forced a polite smile. “Thank you, Marta. It smells wonderful. I really appreciate you bringing it all the way upstairs.”
She beamed at the praise, wiping her hands on the front of her apron.
“I’m fine, really,” I told her. “Just pull the door shut on your way out.”
Marta nodded and retreated across the room. Her shoes squeaked against the polished hardwood floor. She grabbed the brass knob, stepped out into the hallway, and pulled the heavy wood shut. The latch engaged with a definitive, metallic click.
The massive room went completely still. The steam curling off the surface of the broth carried the familiar aroma of rosemary and thyme.
I slid my hands out from under the blankets and gripped the ornate edges of the tray. The silver dug into the pads of my fingers, bringing a sharp sting. I leaned into the pain. The pain gave me something to focus on, keeping me from dumping the bowl onto the floor.
I knew exactly what a concentrated dose of walnut extract would do to me. I had lived with the threat my entire life. I knew the burning rash, the tight throat, the sheer panic of suffocating. Willingly inducing that agony contradicted every survival instinct I possessed.
There was no visible sign the meal was tainted. It looked identical to the lunches I had eaten a dozen times before. Yet the certainty remained.
Tobias and Lavinia had secured their alibi. They had made a show of leaving the property. This was the moment they had chosen to trigger the new trust fund.
I lifted my chin and looked across the space. A narrow sliver of shadow marked the en-suite walk-in closet. The door sat open a fraction of an inch. Bastien and Dr. Beaumont were waiting in the cramped darkness behind the door.
I spoke to the narrow gap.
“I know you’re listening, Bastien. I’m taking the first bite now.”
I reached out and picked up the silver spoon. The metal handle offered a cool contrast against my sweating palm. The heat rising from the golden liquid in the bowl carried the scent of roasted chicken and hidden poison.
“Do your worst,” I muttered to the steaming broth.
I dipped the spoon into the soup, watching it pool in the silver. I lifted the utensil to my mouth and parted my lips. The broth washed over my tongue, masking the lethal extract under the taste of savory herbs and salt.
I swallowed the hot liquid. I lowered my hand. The spoon hit the silver tray with a quiet clink.
I folded my hands in my lap, staring at the poisoned bowl. The numbers on the digital clock flashed, shifting to the next minute. The silence echoed in the isolated space. Tobias and Lavinia were supposedly miles away by now. I knew they were doing no such thing.
Silence stretched through the cavernous bedroom. I kept my eyes locked on the cracked closet door across the Persian rug. Behind that thin line of darkness, Bastien was standing guard, forced to listen as I willingly poisoned myself.
“Just a few minutes of pain,” I had told him on the frosted lawn.
The memory of my own promise kept me in place. For a long minute, nothing happened. The bedroom remained still. I waited for the trap to spring, locking my hands around the ornate metal so hard my knuckles ached. Then, a burn flared in the back of my throat.
I swallowed again, trying to clear the sensation, but the heat refused to dissipate. A wave of lightheadedness hit me. The edges of the mahogany dresser and the bedside lamps blurred into indistinct shapes. The walls of the room began to spin.
I released the edge of the tray. A hot, prickling itch erupted across my collarbone, spreading upward toward my jawline.
I brought a trembling hand up to my neck and dragged my fingernails across my own skin.
The desperate scratching brought no relief.
I looked down at my bare forearms resting against the blankets.
A fierce red rash flushed across my pale skin. The hives spread in raised, angry patches. My throat rapidly swelled shut, cutting off my air. Every desperate inhale scraped past the narrowing gap, transforming into a high-pitched, ragged wheeze.
The lack of oxygen made the room tilt. I slumped backward, letting the silver tray slide an inch across my thighs. My back hit the carved wooden headboard. I pressed my weight hard against the timber to keep myself upright in the spinning room. Every heave for air demanded immense effort.
Just a few more minutes. They won’t be able to resist.
I stared at the narrow gap in the closet door. The hidden microphone in the crown molding would pick up every agonizing sound I made. I forced a shallow breath through my closing throat.
“Wait, Bastien. Just wait.”
The heavy bedroom door creaked open on its hinges. I pressed myself harder against the carved wooden headboard, fighting for every single scrap of oxygen.
Tobias stepped over the threshold. He wore his tailored winter coat. Lavinia followed a step behind him, wrapped in her own designer wool.
“Keep your voice down,” Tobias muttered.
“Oh, look,” Lavinia said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper as she scanned the mattress. “The tray is on her lap. She ate it.”
They stepped fully into the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind them. I clawed at my collarbone, desperately scratching at the burning hives covering my skin. The sheer pain of my closing throat blotted out everything else. Every strained gasp echoed off the mahogany furniture.
They crossed to the Persian rug and stopped at the foot of the bed, standing within the frame of the hidden camera tucked near the ceiling.
They came back.
The physical pain in my windpipe was excruciating, but their very presence—smug, relaxed, and unbothered by my gasping—proved my trap was working. I had not been wrong. They were exactly the monsters I believed them to be.
“Well, well,” Tobias said. “Look at this.”
He rested his hands casually over the edge of the wooden footboard. He stared down at me. There was no frantic husband routine. There was no fake concern. He just watched me gasp for air.
My fingers gripped the fabric of my shirt right above my sternum, bunching it in my fist as I wheezed.
“Tobias,” I gasped. The word tore at my raw throat. “Help me… I can’t breathe.”
Tobias tilted his head. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, revealing his bright, country-club teeth.
“I don’t think I will, Cecilia,” he said. “I think I’m just going to stand right here.”
The unvarnished cruelty in his voice carried over the sounds of my struggle. Dizziness crashed into me, and my vision swam as I heaved again. I scraped my nails against the side of my neck, putting on a desperate show for the microphones recording every sound.
Lavinia sighed. She crossed her arms over her expensive coat.
“Stop scratching your neck, darling. It looks terribly undignified,” she said. “Just close your eyes and let it happen.”
I couldn’t support my own weight anymore. I sagged heavily against the mattress, curling inward as I coughed. The silver tray tipped, spilling a few drops of hot broth onto the duvet.
Tobias leaned forward, pressing his forearms against the smooth, polished wood of the footboard. He observed my struggle, his smile widening into a look of sickening satisfaction.
“It’s really a tragedy,” Tobias said. His voice was calm, conversational. “Marta must have used the same cutting board for the walnuts as she did for your soup.”
I stared at him through the darkening tunnel of my vision. A layer of cold sweat broke out across my forehead, dampening my hairline. I fought for a single, full breath, but the swelling blocked the air.
“She’ll go to prison for criminal negligence,” Tobias continued. He tapped his fingers against the polished varnish. “And Lavinia and I will inherit the trust to take care of Petra.”
Say it all. Say every single word into the microphone.
I focused on the shape of his mouth. The lack of air made my head spin, the edges of the room dimming into fuzzy, indistinct shadows. I needed them to keep talking. I needed Lavinia on the record before my strength gave out.
“You…” I wheezed, the word scraping up my ruined throat. “You planned this…”