Chapter 985:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

She lunged toward the bar, grabbing a thick linen napkin. Forgetting all her grace and dignity, she dropped to her knees and began scrubbing frantically at the stain.

She could hear the heavy tread of his footsteps in the main hall, the murmur of his voice. He was getting closer.

The doorknob to the parlor began to turn.

Eleonora froze, the damp, poisoned cloth clutched in her hand, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The heavy oak door swung open. Donovan strode in, bringing a chill of the night air with him.

𝘛𝘩𝖾 𝘣𝗲𝗌𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝖺𝖽i𝗻𝗴 𝖾𝗑р𝗲𝗋і𝖾ո𝗰𝖾 𝘰ո 𝗴a𝗹𝗇о𝗏e𝗅𝘴.𝘤o𝘮

In a single, fluid motion, Eleonora shoved the damp napkin deep into the crevice of a sofa cushion and rose to her feet, a practiced smile pasted on her lips.

“Darling,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “You’re back early. I thought you were in the city.”

Donovan didn’t look at her. His brow was furrowed, his mind clearly elsewhere. “The meeting was shorter than expected,” he grunted, walking past her to the bar.

Eleonora’s heart pounded. Her eyes were glued to the damp spot on the rug, which seemed to glow like a beacon in the dim light.

A sleek, black Doberman trotted into the room after Donovan. The dog went straight to the stain. It sniffed once, twice, then let out a low, confused whine, its front paw scratching at the wool fibers.

Donovan stopped pouring his drink. He turned, his sharp gaze following the dog’s attention.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice edged with annoyance. “What’s wrong with the dog?”

Eleonora’s palms were slick with sweat. “Oh, nothing, darling,” she said, forcing a light, dismissive laugh. “I was clumsy earlier. Spilled some of the new floral cleaner. It must have a strange scent.”

Donovan stared at her for a long, silent moment. His eyes were like drills, seeming to pierce right through her carefully constructed facade. She felt her smile begin to tremble.

But his mind was still consumed by the woman in the garden, by the ghost of Genevieve. He waved a dismissive hand at the dog. “Leave it.”

Eleonora let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She had survived. Barely.

Miles away, deep beneath the streets of Manhattan, Hilliard and Giselle stood before a heavy alloy door. An iris scanner glowed red.

Giselle leaned forward, a smug smile on her face. The scanner flashed green. With a hiss of decompressed air, the massive doors slid apart.

A blast of sterile, white light flooded the corridor, illuminating Hilliard’s grim, determined face. He stepped across the threshold, into the heart of the Van Doren empire.

The laboratory was a maze of gleaming steel pipes and pressurized glass chambers. Technicians in white clean-suits moved like ghosts through the sterile environment.

Giselle clung to his arm, her voice a proud murmur as she pointed out various pieces of multi-million-dollar equipment. Hilliard said nothing, his eyes scanning, recording, mapping every security camera, every keycard access point, every potential blind spot.

She led him to the deepest part of the facility, a central, temperature-controlled vault. Inside, behind reinforced glass, were racks of vials containing brightly colored liquids.

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