"Someone Is Poisoning You," The Little Maid’s Daughter Whispered That My Fiancée Was Poisoning Me—Then One Butter Dish Exposed the Woman Sent to Inherit My Empire

Ten minutes later, Isabella was locked inside the upper guest room under the guard of three armed men.

I sat in my private study, the heavy oak doors shut tight against the rest of the house. The room smelled of old leather books, cigar smoke, and cold tea.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I said.

Sophia Bennett, Emma’s mother, stepped into the room. She was twenty-eight, thin, with kind gray eyes and hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wore the dark blue apron of the household staff. She was trembling so violently she had to clutch the edge of my mahogany desk to keep her balance.

Emma stood behind her apron, holding her cloth doll tight against her chest.

“Don Romano… please…” Sophia sobbed, dropping to her knees on the Persian rug. “Please don't hurt Emma! She didn't mean to cause trouble! We’ll leave right now! We won't say a word to anyone!”

I stood up from my chair and walked around the desk.

I knelt on the floor in front of Sophia—something Don Romano had never done for anyone in his life.

“Sophia, stand up,” I said softly, taking her shaking hands in mine. “Your daughter saved my life today. Do you understand that? If she hadn't spoken up, I would have been dead within a week.”

Sophia looked up, her tear-filled eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you’re not angry with us?”

“Angry?” I looked at little Emma, who was peering at me from behind her mother’s skirt. “I owe both of you a debt I can never fully repay.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, handing it to Sophia.

“From this moment on, you are no longer a maid in this house,” I told her clearly. “You and Emma will move into the master guest suite in the west wing. You will have a salary, full protection, and anything your daughter needs for her education.”

“Don Romano… we can't accept that—”

“You can, and you will,” I said firmly. “Because as long as I breathe, no one in this city will ever threaten you or Emma again.”

Just then, my desk phone rang with a sharp, piercing sound.

I stood up and answered it.

“Gabriel,” Marco’s heavy voice came through the line. “Dr. Moretti finished the preliminary testing on the butter.”

“And?”

“Arsenic and thallium,” Marco reported, his voice dark with fury. “Micro-doses. It wouldn't kill you instantly. It would cause gradual organ failure over two or three months. By the time you died, doctors would have assumed it was natural heart disease or stomach cancer.”

My jaw set hard. “Where did she get thallium, Marco? It’s a restricted chemical.”

“I ran the serial numbers on the white bottle we found in her coat,” Marco said. “It was purchased three weeks ago through a medical supply front company in New York.”

“Who owns the front company?”