Chapter 4 - The Midnight Laboratory RunBy midnight, the mansion was completely silent, save for the howling wind battering the slate roof.

I wore dark leggings, a black hoodie, and soft-soled sneakers. My heart pounded against my ribs as I crept down the back service stairs, my hand gripping a small, airtight glass vial tucked safely inside my pocket.

Earlier that evening, while serving dinner, I had managed to slip into the wet bar adjoining Gideon’s study when the coast was clear. Using a sterile dropper, I had extracted three milliliters of residual liquid from the bottom of the crystal decanter before Iris Bell could wash it out.

Now, I needed to get that sample to someone who could analyze it without triggering the watchful eyes of Marcus Vance’s security network.

As I reached the bottom of the service stairs and crept toward the kitchen exit, a massive shadow detached itself from the darkness near the pantry door.

I gasped, stumbling backward and hitting the wall with a dull thud.

A hand reached out, catching my shoulder with iron force, pinning me gently against the wall. The familiar scent of sandalwood and expensive whiskey washed over me.

“Where do you think you’re going at midnight, Clara?” Gideon’s deep voice rumbled in the darkness.

Even without his glasses, his face was mere inches from mine. I could see the faint outline of his sharp jawline in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window.

“Mr. Vitali,” I breathed out, my chest heaving. “You scared me.”

“You’re sneaking out of my house wearing black clothes,” Gideon noted, his grip on my shoulder loosening slightly, though he didn't let go. “That tends to have a startling effect. What’s in your pocket?”

I hesitated, pulling the small glass vial out and holding it up in the moonlight.

“A sample from the decanter,” I whispered. “If I stay in this house much longer, Marcus Vance is going to realize that I know what he’s doing. But before he figures it out, I need definitive proof. I’m taking this to an independent lab across town—a friend of my father’s who still operates a private chemical analysis clinic.”

Gideon stared at the small glass vial gleaming in my palm. His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump.

“You think Marcus is doing this,” Gideon stated. It wasn't a question.

“He’s the only one with access to your private study, the authority to override security logs, and the motive to make your blindness look like a natural tragedy so he can seize control of the board before the winter summit,” I said fiercely, looking up into his sightless eyes. “He’s been poisoning you slowly, Gideon. Every single morning.”

Silence fell between us, heavier than the night air.

For a long moment, I thought he wouldn't believe me. I thought the loyalty of a decade would outweigh the words of a junior maid.

Then, Gideon reached out, took the glass vial from my hand, and slipped it into his own coat pocket.

“You’re not going across town alone,” Gideon said quietly. “My car is idling in the carriage house. And Marcus has two men watching the front gates. If you walk out of here by yourself, you won't make it two blocks.”

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I blinked, stunned. “You believe me?”

“I don't trust anyone, Clara,” Gideon replied, his voice dropping into a low, lethal cadence. “Least of all the men who pour my whiskey. But I trust the math. And your math adds up. Get your coat.”