Chapter 2 - The Poisoned Tea
The air vanished from my lungs.
My previous three pregnancies had ended in devastating, unexplained miscarriages.
The doctors had called it a tragic medical anomaly.
Now, looking into Camille’s calculating eyes, the horrifying truth hit me like a physical blow.
"You poisoned me," I choked out, my knees suddenly feeling weak.
Camille smiled, looking completely unfazed by my accusation.
"I merely provided a special herbal blend to Roman's head housekeeper."
"She was very loyal to the Vescari family's true interests."
"Roman didn't want a child distracting him, and I certainly didn't want you securing your place in his empire."
Bile rose in my throat as I realized the depths of my husband's betrayal.
Roman had watched me cry, watched me bleed, and watched me mourn three unborn children while his mistress orchestrated it.
Before I could speak, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Roman walked into the kitchen, his dark suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders.
He looked at Camille, then at me, completely devoid of any guilt.
"I see you two have finally met," Roman said smoothly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
"How is the boy?"
I stared at the man I had married, feeling like I was looking at a complete stranger.
"You let her poison my tea," I whispered, tears of pure rage burning my eyes.
Roman stopped pouring the whiskey and sighed heavily.
"Elena, do not start being dramatic."
"Those pregnancies were weak, and the timing was terrible for the business."
He took a step toward me, reaching his hands out.
"Give me my son."
I violently backed away, clutching Marco so tightly the baby let out a small whimper.
"Do not touch him!" I screamed.
Roman's face instantly darkened, the mask of the calm businessman slipping away.
He closed the distance between us in two massive strides, his hand wrapping viciously around my injured waist.
Pain flared through my surgical incision, dropping me to my knees.
Roman effortlessly ripped Marco out of my arms as I collapsed onto the cold marble floor.
He looked down at me with cold, dead eyes while holding our crying newborn.
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"You seem to forget who owns you, Elena."
"If you ever raise your voice to me again, I will have Camille raise this boy in Paris while you rot in an asylum."
