Chapter 3
Evangeline's POV
At 2 AM, the entire estate was fast asleep. I carefully slipped out of bed, making sure not to wake Caspian beside me, and padded barefoot to the kitchen.
Moonlight filtered through the window panes onto the floor, the kitchen silent and still. With trembling hands, I opened the refrigerator and retrieved the leftover mushroom soup from last night.
"I'm sorry, Whiskers," I whispered to the empty air.
There was an orange cat on the estate named Whiskers who loved to prowl around the kitchen. I found its little sleeping nook and gently woke it.
"Meow..." Whiskers opened its green eyes and made a soft sound at me.
My hands were shaking. What was I doing? Was I really about to use an innocent animal to test my suspicions?
But I had to know the truth.
I poured a small dish of soup and placed it in front of Whiskers. It sniffed, then began to lap it up.
One hour later.
"No..." I covered my mouth as tears streamed down my face.
Whiskers began vomiting, its body convulsing violently as it made sounds of distress. I scooped it up, feeling its trembling body in my arms.
It really was poisoned! Thank God I hadn't eaten much.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." I held Whiskers tight, my tears falling onto its fur. "This is all my fault."
Terror crashed over me like a wave. Someone really did want to kill Grace and me! And they were right here in this house, right beside me!
I quickly gave Whiskers some milk, hoping to dilute the toxin, then settled it somewhere warm. Thankfully the dose was small—it should pull through.
When I returned to the bedroom, my entire worldview had changed.
This wasn't an accident. This wasn't paranoia.
Someone wanted us dead.
Early the next morning, while the servants were out, I snuck into the kitchen.
I searched through all the cabinets but found nothing suspicious, then made my way to the tool shed.
The shed was packed with gardening equipment—shovels, shears, fertilizer bags—and thick with the smell of earth. My heart pounded like a drum, every tiny sound making me jump.
I opened the tool cabinet, where various implements were neatly arranged. In the corner of the bottom shelf, I discovered a small package.
Rat poison.
The label clearly read: "Highly Toxic - Do Not Ingest. Keep Away from Children."
My hands shook as I took a photo with my phone, my emotions in turmoil. Tom really...? No, could there be another explanation?
Footsteps!
Someone was coming back! I hastily returned the rat poison to its place and tiptoed out of the shed, hiding behind nearby bushes.
Tom returned, carrying a bag of seeds. He looked the same as always—honest and hardworking.
My heart was torn with conflict. Could this seemingly kind middle-aged man really be the killer trying to murder me?
Tom's phone rang.
"Hello?" He answered, his voice somewhat impatient.
I held my breath and listened carefully.
"That thing is becoming more and more troublesome," Tom said. "We need to get rid of this problem quickly."
My blood turned to ice.
"If we don't act soon, it'll be too late. You know the consequences," Tom continued, his tone threatening.
Oh my God!
I pressed my hand firmly over my mouth to keep from making any sound. Tom really was trying to hurt me! Who was he talking to? Did he have accomplices?
"Fine, we'll act tomorrow. We can't delay any longer."
Tomorrow? What tomorrow?
Tom hung up and went into the tool shed. I seized the chance to escape quickly, my heart ready to burst from my chest.
All the evidence pointed to Tom. The rat poison, the suspicious phone call, the threatening tone.
But... but why? Why would Tom want to hurt me? I'd never wronged him. He'd worked for our family for years, always loyal and faithful.
Was it money? Had someone bought him off?
When I returned to the living room, my face must have looked terrible.
Caspian was reading the newspaper. Seeing me enter, he immediately frowned.
"Evangeline? You look awful. What happened?"
I stood in the doorway, torn with indecision. Should I tell him? Tell him that Tom might be trying to hurt me?
But what if I was wrong? What if Tom really was just talking about rats in the garden? Wouldn't I be wrongly accusing a good man?
"I... I'm fine." I forced a smile. "Just a little tired."
Caspian set down his newspaper and came over to take my hands.
"Your hands are ice cold," he said with concern. "Are you feeling unwell? Should I call a doctor?"
Looking into his caring eyes, I almost broke down crying. I wanted to tell him everything, to pour out all my fears and suspicions, to let him protect Grace and me.
But the words stuck in my throat.
"Maybe I didn't sleep well last night."
Just then, Ophelia came downstairs and saw us standing in the living room.
"Evangeline, you look very tense," she said with concern. "Are you under too much stress?"
"I'm fine." I shook my head, but my voice was trembling.
Ophelia came over and gently rubbed my back.
"You've been on edge lately. Would you like me to stay with you while you rest? Or we could take a walk in the garden?"
"No!" I practically screamed.
Both Caspian and Ophelia jumped.
I realized my reaction was too extreme and quickly explained: "I mean... I'd like to be alone for a while."
"Alright," Caspian said, looking puzzled. "But if anything's wrong, you must tell me."
"I will."
I hurried toward the stairs, escaping their concerned gazes.
Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind in chaos.
Rat poison, phone calls, threats... all the evidence pointed to Tom. But deep down, I didn't want to believe it.
Tom had been with our family for ten years. He'd watched me grow up, watched me get married, and now was about to watch me give birth. How could he possibly want to hurt me?
Had I gotten it wrong?
But how else could I explain the evidence?
I touched my belly and whispered softly to Grace:
"Baby, Mommy really doesn't know what to do. If Tom really is the bad guy, he's going to act tomorrow. How can I protect you?"
I felt Grace's heartbeat, as if responding to my words.
"You're right." I took a deep breath. "I can't just sit here and wait. Tomorrow, I have to confront Tom directly."
No matter how painful, I had to know the truth.
Outside the window, the sun was setting—the third day was almost over. Four days left.
I had to find the truth and protect Grace before the killer struck.
Even if that person was Tom, whom I'd once trusted.
This time, I wouldn't let anyone hurt us.
As night fell, I clenched my fists. Tomorrow would be the moment of truth.
