CHAPTER 2
Panic exploded inside the grand dining hall as Evelyn collapsed onto her side on the marble floor, gasping frantically for air through blue-tinted lips.
Lauren stumbled backward, tripping over her own high heels and crashing hard against the mahogany sideboard, her flashy red dress tearing along the side seam.
"What did you do to her?!" Lauren shrieked, her heavy makeup smearing with sudden, frantic tears as she pointed at Clara with a wild, shaking finger. "You poisoned her!"
Clara slowly rose to her feet, casually smoothing down the hem of her ripped white dress with an unbothered, majestic grace that made her look like an entirely different person.
"I didn't poison anyone, Lauren," Clara replied smoothly, stepping gracefully over the broken porcelain pieces scattered across the marble floor. "Evelyn simply drank the exact tea she asked her private chef to prepare for me forty-five minutes ago."
Ten minutes before the confrontation, while Evelyn and Lauren were busy celebrating in the parlor, Clara had quietly swapped the porcelain teacups on the serving tray.
She knew every secret passage, every servant routine, and every hidden detail of the Mercer estate after surviving three grueling years as their domestic servant-wife.
"Help! Someone call nine-one-one!" Lauren screamed hysterically toward the hallway, scrambling toward the heavy double doors of the private dining room.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut automatically, locked from the outside by a central electronic security system that Clara had overridden using Evelyn's private master code.
Lauren yanked frantically on the brass handles, but the doors remained completely immobile, trapping the terrified mistress inside the room with the choking matriarch and the smiling widow.
On the floor, Evelyn’s violent choking began to subside into weak, desperate gasps as her hands dropped limply onto the cold marble surface.
"Save... me..." Evelyn whimpered weakly, her eyes rolling back as she stared up at Clara, begging for mercy from the woman she had spent years trying to destroy.
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Clara stood over her mother-in-law, looking down with cold, absolute detachment as she pulled a sleek black smartphone from her dress pocket.
"The antidote is in my hand, Evelyn," Clara whispered softly, leaning down toward the dying woman's ear. "But before I give it to you, you are going to sign over every single asset tied to the Mercer trust."
