Chapter 369 The Breaking Point
ADRIANA
TWO MONTHS LATER
I was going to kill her. The thought wasn't even shocking anymore—it had settled into my bones with the certainty of sunrise, a calm, rational decision that had nothing to do with madness and everything to do with survival.
Two months of Simone's poison dripping into the foundation of my family, simpering smiles and calculated appearances at Elijah's elbow, two months of pretending I didn't notice the way she looked at him when she thought I wasn't watching.
One of the maids walked into the nursery, where I'd been trying to coax Lana back to sleep after a 5 AM wake-up call. The girl's face was flushed, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to deliver the news.
"My Queen, she's done it again. Locked herself in the kitchen this time. Says she's cooking for the King. The twins missed their bus because we couldn't pack their lunches, and she's—she's saying things, ma'am. Things you need to hear."
I handed Lana to the nanny without a word, my body moving on autopilot while my brain caught fire. I didn't bother with shoes or a robe. I stormed down the hallway in my nightgown, bare feet slapping against the marble, the hem of silk catching the morning draft.
The kitchen door was locked. Of course it was. I could hear movement inside—pots clanging, water running, the absurd domesticity of someone making themselves at home in my house.
"Simone!" My fist hammered against the wood, the impact vibrating up my arm. "Open this door right now, you psychotic bitch!"
Her voice floated through the barrier, syrupy sweet and utterly unhinged. "Good morning, Adriana! Did the staff tattle on me again? How predictable." Something sizzled in a pan—the smell of bacon and eggs, breakfast for my husband. "I'm just making Elijah's favorite meal. You know how he loves my cooking. After all, I'm basically his second wife at this point. Might as well act like it."
Second wife? The words detonated in my skull. I slammed my palm against the door, the crack of skin on wood echoing through the empty hallway. "Are you out of your fucking mind? This is my house! My kitchen! Open this goddamn door!"
"Why don't you kick it down?" she called back, laughter threading through her voice. "Show Elijah how violent and unstable you are. I'm making his breakfast, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. He'll eat my food, Adriana. He'll eat it and he'll remember what we had."
My vision blurred at the edges, red creeping in. I could hear my pulse in my ears, a drumbeat of rage that drowned out everything else. I raised my fist to pound again, but a hand caught my wrist.
"Adriana." Elijah's voice was rough with sleep, his robe half-tied, hair standing in every direction. He blinked at me, still trying to surface from whatever dream I'd ripped him from. "What's happening? Why are you screaming?"
I jerked my hand free and jabbed a finger toward the kitchen. "That lunatic locked herself in there! She's holding our kitchen hostage, Elijah. She's telling the staff she's your second wife, telling them she won't let anyone make food for our children. Our children missed the bus because of her bullshit!" I grabbed his arm, nails digging in. "If you don't get her out of there right now, I swear to God, I will burn this house down with her in it."
Elijah's expression shifted, the sleep clearing from his eyes, replaced by something hard and calculating. He stepped toward the door, his posture changing, the casual disarray of morning transforming into the coiled authority of a king.
"Simone," he said, his voice low and level. "Open the door. Now."
Silence. Then, finally, her voice again, smaller now, wounded. "Elijah, I just wanted to make you breakfast. I wanted to do something nice for you. You know I'd do anything for you. Anything at all."
The words made my stomach turn. I looked at Elijah, at the way his jaw tightened, and something inside me snapped. I was done waiting for him to handle this. Done pretending diplomacy could fix crazy.
"Simone!" I shouted, my voice raw. "You have ten seconds to open this door, or I'm breaking it down! And when I get in there, you won't recognize your own face when I'm done with you!"
More silence. Then the shuffle of feet, the click of the lock. The door cracked open, and she peered out, her face a mask of innocence that didn't reach her eyes. "Adriana, there's no need for threats. I was just—"
"Kidnapping my daughter?" I cut in, stepping forward, invading her space. "Was that part of doing 'anything' for him? Taking my baby from her crib?"
Elijah moved beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "We know, Simone," he said quietly. "We know you took Lana. We know you wanted money—ransom, probably, or leverage to force me into claiming your 'son.'" He spat the word like poison. "And we know Lucien isn't your son at all. He's your brother. You've been running a con since the day you showed up here."
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. Lucien was her brother? All those weeks of watching him, of wondering what kind of mother could use her child as a bargaining chip, and he wasn't even hers? I turned to Elijah, questions burning in my throat, but his eyes were fixed on Simone, watching her crumble.
"How long have you known?" I whispered.
"Long enough," he replied, his voice grim. "I was waiting for her to slip up. To give us proof."
Simone's face had transformed, the innocent mask slipping to reveal something feral underneath. Her hands trembled where they gripped the doorframe. "You don't understand," she said, her voice rising. "You don't know what it's been like, watching you build this life, this perfect fucking life, while I—"
"Guard!" I called out, spotting one of the security team rounding the corner. I kept my eyes on Simone, not trusting her for a second. "Stay close. Don't take your eyes off her."
The guard nodded, hand moving to his weapon. Simone's gaze flicked to him, then back to me, calculating.
"Simone," I said, forcing my voice steady. "No matter what you cook, no matter how many years you squat in my house pretending to be something you're not, Elijah will never want you. You'll always be the woman who tried to break up a family. You'll always be nothing."
Her eyes met mine, and I saw the exact moment something broke inside her. The door swung wide, and she emerged—but she wasn't alone.
Lucien stumbled in front of her, her arm locked around his throat, a kitchen knife pressed against the pulse point in his neck. The boy's eyes were wide, terrified, his hands clutching at her arm uselessly.