Chapter 148

Chapter 148
Alina's POV

By the time I returned to the Adams estate, dusk had already fallen.

The evening light sank down through the treetops of the garden, wrapping the whole building in a haze of gray-blue shadow.

The guards at the gate visibly froze when they caught sight of me, then quickly lifted their radios and murmured something into them. I paid no attention to their reaction. I walked straight through the entrance hall and down the corridor toward the study.

The study door stood ajar. When I pushed it open, Adams was seated behind his desk, a glass of liquor in his hand, several documents spread out before him.

"You're back?" His voice was lower than usual, and there was even a trace of weariness in it.

Looking at the hypocrisy on his face, I forced down the anger in my chest and pretended not to know who was behind everything that had happened these past few days.

"Mm." I stepped into the study and sat down in the chair by the door, keeping my distance from his desk, offering no explanation of where I had been.

He didn't ask where I'd gone, nor why I'd been missing so long. He simply sat there, one hand resting on the arm of his chair, watching me quietly for a while. When he finally spoke, there was an unfamiliar slowness in his tone. "You're hurt. Go back to your room. I'll send a doctor to look at you."

His words caught me off guard. He hadn't lost his temper, hadn't interrogated me, hadn't demanded in that condescending way of his where I'd been, who I'd seen, why I'd come back.

A few days apart, and he seemed to have aged a great deal.

I looked at him. In the light of the wall lamp, there was more gray in his hair than before.

Ever since he'd pried Antonio out of Lowell's hands, the man had lost his former usefulness, and Adams's foothold in this city was shrinking bit by bit. My disappearing at such a moment had probably given him his first real taste of losing control.

I stood, turned, and walked out of the study without another word.

Once I was back in the bedroom, the doctor arrived soon after. He redressed the wounds on my fingers and knees, prescribed some anti-inflammatory medicine, gave me a few instructions, and then left.

I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the door click shut. Then I drew the small glass vial from the inner pocket of my coat and cupped it in my palm, its cold surface pressing against my skin.

I was going to kill him. The sooner, the better.

On my second night back at the estate, I overheard two of the servants talking in the corridor.

They stood beneath a wall lamp at the turn of the stairs, their voices hushed, as if afraid of being heard. But the corridor was so quiet that as I passed, their words drifted into my ears in broken fragments.

"…I heard the master sent people to bring him back. Took quite an effort."

"Didn't that woman already leave? How is she back again?"

"I'm not talking about her. I mean Mr. Antonio—wasn't he over on Lowell's side before? No idea how the master managed to get him back. He's locked up in that basement on the east wing now. Someone brings him meals every day."

My footsteps halted in that instant.

Antonio—Adams had gotten him back.

He had been in Lowell's hands, the key witness Lowell meant to use to prove to me the truth of what had happened all those years ago. Now he had been moved into the Adams estate. That meant Lowell's whole scheme had already been disrupted by Adams, and it meant Antonio was now under Adams's control. If I wanted to pry anything out of him, I would first have to get past Adams.

I didn't linger in the corridor. I kept walking as though I'd heard nothing. But once I was back in the bedroom with the door shut, I stood behind it and clenched the vial in my pocket.

I couldn't wait any longer. Adams's guard would only grow heavier with time, and the fact that he'd been able to wrest Antonio away from Lowell showed that his power hadn't entirely collapsed. If I dragged this out, there would only be more variables.

The very next evening, my chance came.

Adams had a habit of drinking a glass of liquor after dinner, sitting alone by the floor-to-ceiling window of his study, letting himself unwind for a while. It was his routine, and one of his rare moments of ease.

When I carried the tray into the study, he was leaning back in his armchair with a book in his hands. His gaze shifted slightly when he saw me come in.

I set the tray on the low table beside him. On it was a glass of the whiskey he always drank, the amber liquid swaying faintly in the glass, the ice clinking softly against the sides.

"Bringing it yourself?" He gave me a sidelong glance.

The room was dim, which made him look older still.

"It was on my way," I said, not looking up.

Adams studied me for a moment, then picked up the glass, his eyes settling on the amber liquid. He examined it for a while, then raised the glass to my lips.

"You drink first."

There was nothing on his face but calm—no visible hint of a test. But I knew what kind of man he was. His suspicion would never fully relax for any reason. No matter how obedient I appeared, he would never lower his guard so easily.

I understood this perfectly. So, under his watchful eyes, I slowly parted my lips and let him pour the liquor in.

The liquid slid down my throat and burned into a ball of fire in my stomach. Adams tipped it in a little too fast, and I nearly choked.

Watching me finish, the corner of his mouth curved slightly, as if he were finally reassured. He withdrew the wineglass and drained what remained in a single swallow.

I set the glass back on the tray. Knowing he would soon want to rest, I took the book from his hands. As I was placing it on the shelf, a dull pain began to churn in my stomach. A scalding, burning sensation spread from my belly into my chest, then radiated out to my limbs like a scatter of fine needles. I gripped the book hard, cold sweat beading on my forehead, feeling as if some enormous worm were gnawing at my organs.

I had drunk the poisoned liquor meant for Adams too, and I wouldn't last much longer.

The taste of blood welled up in my throat. As I turned, the whole world seemed to spin, and at last I staggered and collapsed to the floor, vomiting a mouthful of blood. When I lifted my head again, Adams was convulsing in his chair.

I had meant for us to die together, but I hadn't expected his will to be so fierce. The moment he realized he'd been poisoned, he fought desperately to make noise, and the vase beside him shattered across the floor as his arm flailed wildly.

The bodyguards outside heard the commotion and burst through the door at once.

Some of them saw the poisoned Adams; others saw me collapsed on the floor, vomiting blood without pause.

They let out a sharp cry: "Miss Alina! What's happened to you?!"

I raised my head to look at that panicked face, my lips moving as I struggled to feign terror, my voice hoarse. "Someone… poisoned the drink… hurry…"

Then I pitched forward. Before my vision blurred completely, I saw more people crowding toward me. Someone was shouting my name, someone was calling for a doctor. The voices blurred together, drifting farther and farther away, growing fainter and fainter, until at last they were swallowed up like a tide and vanished entirely.

The last thought before I lost consciousness was that I hoped Adams would die right here—even if it cost me my life too.