Chapter 3 - Whispers in the DarkBy the third day, the penthouse felt less like a prison and more like a fortress preparing for war.
Security was doubled. Silent, heavily armed men paced the private halls, while Miles spent hours on the balcony making quiet, urgent phone calls. Yet inside the quiet sanctuary of the grand living room, a miracle was taking place.
Titan had started eating.
I spent every morning in the chef's kitchen, preparing specialized meals. I boiled fresh chicken bones into a rich broth, mashing organic pumpkin, raw egg yolks, and high-fat beef kidney into a smooth paste.
Titan didn't eat from a bowl. He ate from my hand.
I sat on the floor with him, spooning small morsels into his mouth, stroking his neck every time he swallowed. By Wednesday evening, he had consumed three full cups of broth and meat—the most food he had processed in two months.
"He's gaining his strength back," I said, wiping Titan's drooling mouth with a clean towel.
Jared was sitting at the kitchen island, a glass of double-proof bourbon resting near his hand, watching us in silence. He had shed his suit jacket, wearing only a black dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing the edge of his chest scar.
"He trusts you," Jared said softly. "More than he ever trusted the handlers."
"Animals know when someone understands pain," I said, sitting back against the base of the island. "When Brendan locked me away... I went weeks without speaking to anyone. I lost thirty pounds. I used to stare at the window and wonder if I’d ever feel warm again. Titan felt the exact same way after Julian died. He wasn't sick, Jared. He was just waiting for someone to prove that the world was still worth staying in."
Jared stared at his glass, his thumb tracing the rim. "Tell me about him."
"Brendan?" I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "He was charming at first. Then he became possessive. Then he became violent. When I finally escaped, I changed my number, moved across three boroughs, and took a night job cleaning floors just so no one would look for me."
"He won't touch you again," Jared said.
The tone was so quiet, so absolute, that it sent a shiver straight down my spine.
"Jared, you don't understand," I warned, looking at him nervously. "Brendan is obsessed. If he's talking to Lucian Vance, he'll lie to him, give him information—he'll do anything to get me back because he thinks I'm his property."
Jared slowly set his glass down. He slid off the barstool and walked over, stopping right in front of where I sat on the floor. He crouched down, his gray eyes burning with an intense, hypnotic flame.
"You don't belong to Brendan," Jared murmured, his fingers reaching out to gently trace the side of my jawline. His touch was warm, astonishingly gentle for a man whose hands carried so much blood. "And you don't belong to me, Willa. But as long as you're under my roof, anyone who tries to hurt you will have to go through every gun I own."
My breath hitched. The proximity between us felt electric, thick with an unspoken tension that had been building since the moment I stepped off the elevator. I looked at his lips, then back up into his stormy eyes.
For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me.
Then Titan let out a low, strange whine.
The moment broke. Jared stood up instantly, stepping back as I turned my attention to the dog.
Titan was lying on his side, his breath suddenly coming in rapid, shallow gasps. His stomach bloomed with an uncomfortable tremor, and his tongue sagged limply out of his mouth.
"Titan?" I gasped, kneeling over him. "What's wrong? What did he eat?"
"Nothing!" Jared's voice snapped with sudden panic. "He only ate the broth you made!"
I quickly inspected Titan's gums. They were bright, fiery red—inflamed and irritated. His pulse was skyrocketing.
"This isn't digestive failure," I said, my mind racing as my training kicked in. "This is an acute allergic reaction—or a chemical irritant! Did anyone touch his food?"
"No one touches his food except you!" Jared roared, calling for Miles.
Miles burst into the kitchen within seconds. "Boss?"
"Get the medical kit! Titan's choking!"
"Wait!" I yelled, snatching the silver bowl I had used to mix his food. I smelled the broth—nothing. Then I looked at the counter where the veterinary supplements provided by Dr. Sterling—one of the top five specialists Jared had hired—were kept.
Dr. Sterling had left a specialized liquid vitamin bottle, instructing us to add three drops to Titan's water every day to "maintain hydration."
I picked up the dropper bottle. I squeezed a single drop onto my fingernail and brought it near my nose.
It smelled faintly of metallic bitter almonds.
Thallium. A slow-acting, odorless heavy metal toxin used in rat poison.
My blood ran cold. "He wasn't dying of grief," I whispered, horror choking my throat as I looked up at Jared. "Jared... he was being poisoned."
Jared froze. The air in the kitchen turned instantly sub-zero. "What did you say?"
"These drops," I held up the bottle, my hand shaking violently. "Someone has been giving him micro-doses of thallium for months. It mimics organ failure, causes severe depression, loss of appetite, and gradual paralysis. Five doctors came here, but one of them was leaving this behind!"
Jared looked at the bottle, then at Titan, who was whimpering on the floor.
A wave of murderous, dark fury washed over Jared Kensington's face—a look so monstrous, so terrifyingly lethal, that even Miles instinctively stepped back.
"Dr. Sterling," Jared whispered, his voice dangerously low. "Lucian Vance paid Sterling to slow-poison Julian's dog to break me before the syndicate war began."
"Jared, we need to flush his system now!" I shouted, grabbing charcoal powder from my bag. "Mix this with water! Now!"
Jared dropped to his knees beside me without hesitation. Together, we held Titan's head, forcing the activated charcoal down his throat to bind the toxin before it could hit his bloodstream. Titan gagged, coughing up dark liquid, but within ten minutes, his breathing began to stabilize.
He lay on the floor, exhausted, but safe.
Jared stood up slowly. His white shirt was stained with charcoal and rain, his hair messy, his eyes burning with absolute, unchecked vengeance.
He turned to Miles.
"Locate Dr. Sterling," Jared ordered, his voice echoing off the stone walls like a death sentence. "Bring him to the warehouse on Pier 42. And tell the boys to prime the vehicles."
"Jared, wait!" I stood up, grabbing his forearm.
Jared stopped, looking down at my hand on his sleeve. His expression was stone, but his pulse was racing beneath my fingers.
"Don't do this," I pleaded softly. "If you go out there blind, it's a trap. Vance wants you angry. He wants you out of this building!"
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Jared looked down at me, his gaze softening for a fraction of a second. He reached up, placing his large hand over mine, squeezing gently.
"They tried to kill my brother's dog in my own home, Willa," Jared whispered. "And they used you to cover their tracks. Nobody touches what's mine and survives the night."
