Chapter 2 - The Poisoned Mind“Who did this to you, Clara?” I demanded, my voice cold, harsh, and devoid of the warmth I had carried through the door seconds ago.
Clara blinked through her tears, looking at me with pure disbelief. She didn't see the relief of a husband coming home; she saw a man looking at her like an investigator accusing a suspect.
“Ethan... what are you saying?” she choked out, her hand trembling violently against her abdomen. “Call... call an ambulance! Something’s wrong with the baby!”
Instead of kneeling beside her, I took a step closer to the bed, looking down at the overturned side table. Beside her shattered phone lay a man’s leather glove—heavy, dark leather, soaked in water. It didn't belong to me.
My mind shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
“Is this why you didn't want me coming home early?” I asked, the words tearing out of my chest before I could stop them. “Who was in this apartment, Clara? Whose glove is that?”
A tear cut through the dried blood on her cheek. “You... you think... oh God, Ethan...”
Before she could finish her sentence, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her body convulsing in a sharp spike of agony as she collapsed fully onto the hardwood floor, unconscious.
The spell of my paranoid delusion broke instantly.
Seeing her motionless body lying in a pool of blood brought the cold reality crashing back over me. I dropped the white tulips onto the rug and dropped to my knees beside her.
“Clara! Clara!” I shouted, lifting her upper body into my arms. Her skin felt ice-cold, covered in a sticky cold sweat.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers covered in her blood as I dialed my private medical team and security detail.
“I need an emergency trauma team at the penthouse now!” I roared into the receiver. “Call Dr. Reynolds! Get a surgeon to Northwestern Memorial immediately! My wife is bleeding out!”
Within four minutes, my private security guards rushed through the penthouse door, followed ten minutes later by an emergency medical crew. As the paramedics lifted Clara onto a stretcher, strapping oxygen over her pale face, my chief of security, Dominic, stepped into the bedroom with his weapon drawn.
“Boss,” Dominic whispered, inspecting the room with sharp, experienced eyes. “There’s no sign of forced entry at the front door. The private elevator log shows no unauthorized key cards used tonight.”
I stared at the leather glove resting beside the broken wedding frame.
“Check the security feeds,” I commanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of rage and terror. “Every camera in the building, every alleyway within three blocks. If anyone entered this floor, I want his name in five minutes.”
Dominic picked up the leather glove with a sterile plastic bag. “Boss... this glove has a crest stamped on the wrist strap.”
I leaned in, staring at the small gold embossing on the wet leather.
It was the family crest of the Rossi family—our primary rivals in the city, led by Julian Rossi. But more importantly, it was the crest of a family my mother had been negotiating with behind my back for months regarding land acquisitions in East Chicago.
My breath caught in my throat.
May you like
I looked down at the blood on my hands. The poison hadn't come from Clara.
It had been delivered directly into my home while I was away.
Related Stories
