The next morning, the rain had stopped — but the air still felt thick with something unspoken.
I watched the sunlight stream through the tall windows of the Windsor estate library, thinking about Isabelle's warning. Her flash drive was tucked into my coat pocket, burning like a secret I wasn't ready to open.
I hadn't slept.
Not properly.
Not since James left.
And now Isabelle was gone again.
Vanished.
---
"Miss Amelia," a voice said from behind me, gentle and familiar.
It was Eliza — one of the longest-serving housekeepers in the Windsor home. She had warm eyes, silver hair, and the sort of grandmotherly voice that made you want to trust her.
She offered a porcelain teacup with both hands.
"Chamomile," she said with a small smile. "You've barely touched food since yesterday. It will help calm your nerves."
I nodded slowly and took it, though something in my stomach twisted again.
"Thank you."
I sat down in the sunroom, the tea in my hands, and stared at the garden blooming beyond the glass. It was quiet. Still. Too still.
Then I heard it.
A subtle shift in tone.
The distant click of a door.
The soft creak of floorboards.
A hush, like someone was listening.
I looked back at the tea.
It smelled faintly floral.
But also… metallic.
I stood abruptly.
"Where's Eliza?" I asked one of the passing guards.
He blinked. "She left an hour ago. Something about visiting her sister in Dover."
My heart dropped.
Then who gave me the tea?
I rushed back into the sunroom and found the cup still sitting where I'd left it — but now, it had a tiny crack along the side. I stared at the surface, at the way the liquid shimmered slightly, and remembered something Sophia once told me:
> The most dangerous poisons aren't fast. They're slow. Invisible. The kind that makes you collapse two hours later and no one connects it to the tea.
I called Miles.
But no answer.
I tried the security feed.
Locked out.
> Someone had taken over the estate systems.
---
That's when the nausea hit.
Subtle.
Then sharp.
Then crushing.
I barely made it to the marble counter before my knees buckled.
> This isn't happening. Not now. Not like this.
My phone slipped from my fingers. The world tilted.
And then — just as the edges of my vision began to dim — someone caught me.
Strong arms.
A familiar scent of spice and rain.
"Amelia!"
My head spun.
"James?" I choked.
He was kneeling in front of me, panic in his voice, shouting to someone outside the room. "Get the medic now!"
"I thought— You were in Dubai," I gasped.
"I turned the jet around last night. Something felt wrong."
He looked down at the cup.
The cracked porcelain.
The half-finished tea.
He swore under his breath and lifted me into his arms.
"I've got you," he whispered. "I've got you."
---
The in-house medical team arrived within minutes. James never left my side.
They flushed the toxin. Ran bloodwork. Injected a neutralizer.
"Someone tried to microdose her," one of the doctors confirmed. "Would've looked like a heart arrhythmia in a few hours. Easily missed. Easily blamed on exhaustion."
James's jaw clenched so hard I thought he might snap.
"Who?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
"I don't know," I croaked.
But he did.
He knew.
Because within minutes, the estate was in lockdown. Every room searched. Every servant interrogated. Biometric scans pulled.
And Eliza?
> Didn't exist in their database.
She had never been on the payroll.
Not once.
---
That night, I lay in James's arms in the hospital suite, barely able to sleep.
"I shouldn't have left you," he murmured.
"You didn't know."
He held me tighter.
"But I should have."
---