Chapter 17: The Poisoned Well
Kaelen's words festered. They were a slow-acting poison, seeping into the cracks of my resolve, turning my certainty to doubt. You're just like him. Cold. Calculating. He'll use you up, too. The accusations echoed in the opulent silence of my suite, twisting every interaction with Silas into a question.
Our meals together became a tense ballet. Every corporate strategy he shared felt like a test. Every question about the baby felt like an inventory check. The memory of his touch, the shocking intimacy we'd shared, now felt like a strategic move in a game I was no longer sure I understood.
He noticed the change. His grey eyes would linger on me, missing nothing.
"You're quiet," he remarked one evening over a perfectly seared steak. The food tasted like ash in my mouth.
"Tired," I lied, pushing a asparagus spear around my plate.
"The encounter with Kaelen unsettled you," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"He's your son," I said, avoiding his gaze. "And you locked him away. You told him his child wasn't his. That would unsettle anyone."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Sentiment is a luxury we cannot afford. His instability is a threat. To you. To the child. It was neutralized."
Neutralized. Like he was a hostile takeover, not a human being. Kaelen was right. We were the same. The realization was a stone in my stomach.
"And what happens when this child becomes an inconvenience?" The question was out before I could stop it, sharp and brittle.
Silas put his fork down with a precise click. The sound was unnaturally loud in the vast dining room. "What are you implying?"
I finally looked at him, meeting his stormy gaze across the expanse of polished mahogany. "I'm implying that the Sullivan line seems to be built on discarding what's no longer useful. Eleanor. Kaelen. Where do I fall on that timeline?"
His expression darkened. "You are comparing yourself to them?"
"I'm wondering what my lifespan is as the 'useful vessel'," I shot back, the poison of Kaelen's words giving me a courage fueled by despair.
He was silent for a long moment, his eyes boring into me. "You are not a vessel," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You are the mother of my heir. Your position is secure."
"As long as I'm useful," I whispered.
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He walked around the table until he was standing over me. He didn't touch me. The space between us crackled with tension.
"You think this is about use?" he asked, his voice a soft, deadly whisper. "You think I brought you into my bed, into my home, because you are useful?"
"Why else?" I challenged, my heart pounding.
He leaned down, his hands gripping the arms of my chair, caging me in. His face was inches from mine. "Perhaps I'm tired of surrounding myself with weak, predictable people," he hissed. "Perhaps I find your ruthlessness… refreshing. Perhaps I have no intention of discarding you because you are the first person in a very long time who has looked at me not as a bank account or a title, but as a worthy opponent."
His words were not a declaration of love. They were something darker, more honest. An acknowledgment of a twisted mutual recognition. It should have terrified me. Instead, a treacherous part of me thrilled at it.
Before I could respond, Levi appeared in the doorway, his face ashen.
"Sir," he said, his voice strained. "A… situation. In the west wing."
Silas straightened up, his mask of cold control slamming back into place. "What kind of situation?"
"It's Mr. Kaelen, sir. He's… he's barricaded himself in his old nursery. He's claiming he… he can hear the baby crying." Levi's eyes flicked to me, full of pity and fear. "He says it's his baby. He says he needs to protect it from… from the doctor."
The blood drained from my face. The poison hadn't just infected me. It had driven Kaelen over the edge into a full-blown psychotic break.
Silas's face was a granite mask. "Call Dr. Evans. Now. And get security to the door. No one goes in or out until I get there." He turned to me, his expression grim. "You. Stay here. Do not leave this room."
He strode from the dining room, Levi scurrying after him. I was left alone at the massive table, the uneaten food congealing on the plates. The silence they left behind was more terrifying than the confrontation.
I couldn't stay. The image of Kaelen, lost in a delusion, believing my child was his, believing he needed to "protect" it from me—it was too close to the nightmares that haunted my own sleep.
Ignoring Silas's command, I slipped out of the dining room and followed at a distance. The west wing was in chaos. Two large security guards stood outside a heavy oak door at the end of the hall—the nursery. I could hear Kaelen's voice from within, muffled but frantic.
"It's crying! Can't you hear it? She's hurt it! I have to get to it! My baby! My son!"
Silas was standing before the door, his posture rigid. "Kaelen," he said, his voice unnaturally calm, a stark contrast to the hysteria behind the door. "Open the door. There is no baby. You're unwell."
"LIAR!" Kaelen screamed, and something heavy thudded against the door from the inside. "You took her! You take everything! You won't take my son!"
I stood frozen in the shadow of an alcove, my hand pressed over my mouth. This was my fault. My presence, my pregnancy, had been the final weight that shattered his already fractured mind.
A few minutes later, a man in a suit—Dr. Evans, presumably—arrived with a medical bag. He spoke quietly with Silas, then approached the door.
"Kaelen, it's Dr. Evans. I'm here to help. Let me in."
The response was another incoherent scream of rage and grief.
Silas turned to the security guards, his face devoid of all emotion. "Break it down."
The two large men exchanged a glance, then threw their shoulders against the heavy door. On the third try, the wood around the lock splintered and the door flew open.
The scene inside was a heartbreaking tableau of madness and lost innocence. The nursery was preserved like a museum exhibit, a room frozen in time for a child who had never known love. Kaelen was in the center of it, clutching a faded blue baby blanket to his chest, rocking back and forth on the floor. He looked up as they entered, his eyes wild and unseeing.
"You can't have him," he sobbed, holding the blanket tighter. "He's mine. He's all I have."
Dr. Evans moved in slowly, speaking in low, soothing tones. Silas stood in the doorway, watching his son's complete unraveling, his expression unreadable.
Then Kaelen's eyes found me, standing in the hall. His face contorted with a fresh wave of hatred.
"You!" he shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You did this! You witch! You brought your poison here! You're killing my son!"
He lunged, not at the doctor or the guards, but toward the doorway, toward me. The guards caught him easily, pinning his arms. He fought them like a wild animal, his screams echoing through the hall.
"I'll make you pay! I'll make you both pay! You'll burn for this! I'LL BURN YOU ALL!"
The words were a direct echo from my nightmares. A cold dread seized me. I stumbled backward, away from the horrific scene.
As the guards and the doctor subdued Kaelen, preparing a sedative, Silas finally turned from the doorway. His eyes met mine. In them, I saw no comfort, no reassurance. I saw only a cold, hard fury.
The poisoned well had overflowed. And the unstable element had just declared war.