Chapter 131 The Poison In The Honey

Chapter 131 The Poison In The Honey
CHAPTER 131

The Poison In The Honey

The boardroom was a sanctuary of polished mahogany and the muffled hum of London’s afternoon traffic filtering through the double-glazed windows.

The air smelled of expensive cologne, fresh stationery, and the cooling dregs of Earl Grey tea.

William leaned back in his leather chair, the heavy fountain pen in his hand feeling like a gavel as he prepared to close the deal.

Across from him sat Mr. Cavendish, a man whose reputation was as ironclad as his handshake, and his daughter, Emma.

Emma hadn't contributed much to the real estate logistics, but she had spent the better part of the hour conducting a thorough, visual inspection of William that was anything but professional.

"And that, I believe, covers the final clause for the Upper East Side development," William said, his voice smooth and authoritative.

"Fairchild Enterprises is pleased to have you as a primary stakeholder, Mr. Cavendish."

"The pleasure is mine, William," Cavendish replied, a rare smile cracking his weathered face. "New York is a beast, but you've made the entry feel like a walk in the park."

"Mr. Fairchild?" Emma chimed in, her voice pitched in a soft, melodic lilt. "Out of curiosity, is this estate my father is acquiring anywhere near your residence in Manhattan?"

Mr. Cavendish let out a hearty laugh, glancing at his daughter. "Good heavens, Emma. Why on earth are you worried about the neighborhood? Planning on borrowing a cup of sugar already?"

Emma didn't blush; she simply tilted her head, her gaze lingering on William’s jawline.

"I was just curious. It would be quite a comfort to know if we were going to be neighbors with someone as... reputable as Mr. Fairchild."

William offered a polite, practiced smile—the kind he reserved for stubborn shareholders and overly ambitious interns.

"It’s a significant distance away, I’m afraid. My home is in a much more secluded sector of the city."

Emma’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, a flash of disappointment crossing her features before she recovered with a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes.

"Well, that’s a shame. But surely, if I find myself wandering New York and feeling a bit lost, you wouldn't mind if I dropped by for a visit? A local guide is always better than a map."

"I’m sure my concierge would be happy to provide you with a list of the city's finest galleries and landmarks," William replied, his tone formal and surgically precise. "My schedule is rarely my own these days, but we pride ourselves on hospitality."

Ryan, sitting to William’s right, suppressed a smirk. He’d seen William dodge social bullets before, but this was a masterclass in professional deflection.

"Mr. Cavendish," Ryan said, sliding a thick leather folder across the table. "Would you like to review the final addendums one last time before we conclude?"

"Always a good idea, Ryan. Thank you," Cavendish said, pulling his reading glasses from his breast pocket and diving back into the paperwork.

At that moment, William’s phone buzzed on the table.

The screen lit up, illuminating a candid photo of Anna—her midnight hair windblown, her smile radiant and real. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, calculated beauty in the room.

Emma leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the wallpaper. "Who is that? She’s... quite striking."

"That is my wife," William said, his voice shifting from professional cool to something warmer, more grounded.

Emma’s face fell as if she’d just been told her favorite boutique had burned down. "Oh," she said, her voice losing its flirtatious edge.

"She’s very pretty. And quite young." She paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What’s her name?"

"Anna," William replied.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl," Emma remarked, though it sounded like she was chewing on glass.

"How old is she, exactly?"

Inwardly, William sighed.

Is this a real estate closing or an interrogation by the census bureau? Should I provide her dental records and a copy of the marriage certificate as well?

Mr. Cavendish looked up from the folder, his amusement clear.

"Emma, darling, why are you grilling poor William like he’s a murder suspect at the Old Bailey? Let the man breathe."

Emma huffed playfully. "You know how I am, Father. When I’m fascinated by something, I don't stop until I have the full picture. And right now, I find Mr. Fairchild’s personal life incredibly... intriguing."

"You’ll have to forgive her, William,"

Cavendish said light-heartedly. "Her inquisitiveness is her greatest strength and her most exhausting trait."

"It’s no trouble at all," William said politely, turning back to Emma.

"She’s twenty-four."

Ryan, who had reached his limit with Emma’s thinly veiled hunting expedition, added in a low, casual voice that carried perfectly across the table: "And pregnant."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to sink a ship. Emma’s eyes widened, and Mr. Cavendish snapped the folder shut, a look of genuine delight on his face.

Ryan didn't even look up; he simply continued organizing his pens like he hadn't just detonated a social landmine.

"Pregnant? Is that true, William?" Cavendish asked.

"It is," William confirmed, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, congratulations!" Cavendish stood, extending a hand across the table. "That’s marvelous news. You must send me an invite to the christening—I’m a sucker for a good celebration."

"I’ll be sure to do that," William said, accepting the handshake.

Emma managed a tight, brittle smile. "Congratulations, William. Anna is... very lucky to have a husband like you."

"I consider myself the lucky one," William replied with a sharp, professional politeness that made it clear the conversation was over.

"Well, we’ve taken enough of your time," Cavendish announced.

"I have a dinner at the club I can't miss. It was a pleasure doing business with you, William."

"Same here," William said. "If there’s anything else, Ryan will email the particulars to your assistant."

Emma shook William’s hand, her grip lingering a second too long.

"I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps under less... corporate circumstances."

"Likewise," William said, retracting his hand with practiced ease.

Ryan stood, offering a stiff, professional bow. "I’ll lead you out."

Once the door clicked shut behind them, William let out a long, weary exhale.

He spun his chair around to face the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the rain-slicked streets of London.

He picked up his phone, his thumb tracing Anna’s face on the screen.

He needed to hear her voice; their earlier call had been cut short by Ryan, and the distance between New York and London felt like an ocean of static.

As he was dialing, the door behind him opened.

Without turning around, thinking Ryan had returned from his escort duty, William spoke up.

"You know, Ryan, for that 'pregnant' comment, I’m seriously considering giving you a raise. Your timing is a weapon of mass destruction."

"I’ve always been told my timing was my best feature," a sultry, velvet voice replied.
"Though I usually hear it in a much different context."

William’s heart didn't leap; it froze. He spun the chair around, his expression shifting from a fond smile to a thunderous, terrifying mask of fury.

Standing by the door, draped in a coat that cost more than most people’s cars and wearing a smile that was pure poison, was Selene.

"What the hell are you doing here?" William’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.

Selene sauntered closer, her hips swaying with a practiced allure.

"I’m in London for the season, William. I heard you were in town and I thought I’d come by to see if—"

William spun his chair back toward the window, cutting her off with a brutal, dismissive coldness.

"On second thought, I don't give a damn why you're here. You have five seconds to remove yourself from this office before I have security physically dump you on the sidewalk. Start counting."

Selene didn't move. Instead, she walked closer, her eyes catching the glow of his phone screen as he hit the redial button for Anna.

A dark, wicked light flickered in her gaze. She knew Anna was on the other end.

Just as the call connected, Selene let out a sharp, theatrical gasp.

She "tripped" on the heels of her designer boots, her ankle twisting in a way that looked painful but was entirely calculated.

She tumbled to the floor with a pathetic cry. "William! Help me! My ankle—I think I’ve sprained it!"

William didn't even turn around. He held the phone to his ear, his voice tight. "Stop the theatrics, Selene. It’s pathetic. Get out before I lose my patience."

Selene let out a hiss of genuine-sounding pain, her hand clutching her ankle. "I’m not faking it! It really hurts, William! Please... I can't even stand up."

William let out a sharp, frustrated breath. He spun around, his gaze fixed on her with a look of pure loathing.

She was sprawled on the carpet, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"Anna, baby, give me one minute," William said into the phone, his voice strained. He looked back at Selene. "Stand up. Now."

"I can't!" she whimpered.

"If you want me to believe this isn't just another one of your desperate plays, you'll have to prove it," William ordered. "Stand. Up."

Selene winced, slowly gathering herself. She attempted to put weight on the affected ankle, letting out a sharp cry as she crumbled back down to the floor, fake tears glistening in her eyes.

"Does it give you that much pleasure to see me suffer? Is that what you want?"

She looked at him with a practiced, broken expression.

"The other day, you wouldn't believe me when I told you I was only trying to help Anna. And now, when I’m actually hurt, you have to put me through more physical pain just to satisfy your own cynicism. Why don't you ever believe a single word I say? Does hating me make you feel better?"

William stared at her, his face a mask of unfeeling stone.

"Hating you would require an emotional investment I’m simply not willing to make, Selene. You’re a liability, not a priority."

The door opened again, and Ryan walked in. He stopped dead, his eyes darting from William to the woman sprawled on the floor.

"What the... Selene? How did she get past the front desk?" He looked at William. "Is she giving you trouble, sir?"

"She’s 'injured' herself," William said, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Ryan, help me get her out of here.
Take her to the nearest hospital, get her ankle wrapped, and then make sure she’s banned from this building for the remainder of her life."

Ryan started to lean down to help her, but Selene recoiled, her voice turning sharp and unfriendly.

"Don't touch me. I don't want an assistant. William, please... I’ll feel safer if you’re the one who takes me. I’m in pain."

"I never asked you to come here, and I certainly didn't ask you to be clumsy enough to break yourself on my floor," William snapped.

"Please," she pleaded, her voice a soft, desperate whimper. "Just take me to the clinic. I can call my uncle to pick me up from there. Just... don't leave me like this."

William looked at the phone, then back at Selene. He closed his eyes for a brief second, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

"Sweetheart? I have to go. I need to get this... situation... to a hospital. I’ll call you the moment I’m back. I love you."

He hung up before she could respond.

He stood, walking toward Selene with a weary, irritated stride.

He reached down to help her up, but she shook her head, looking up at him with a helpless pout. "I can't put weight on it, William. Please... carry me?"

William stared at her in total incredulity, his jaw tightening. "You’ve got to be joking. You want a bridal carry for a sprained ankle?"

Ryan cut in, his voice dry as bone.

"I don't think that’s strictly necessary, Selene. It’s a sprain, not a bilateral leg amputation. Most people managed to limp or hop to an elevator. It’s a very common human skill."

Selene threw Ryan a caustic, venomous look. "Limping will only put more pressure on the joint and make the swelling worse. Do you want me to be permanently crippled? William, please... help me."

William let out a jagged breath, then reached down and swept her up into a bridal carry.

Selene immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, a triumphant, brilliant smile breaking across her face. "Thank you, William."

William ignored her, his gaze fixed on Ryan. "Keep an eye on the office. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. If she’s faking this, she won't like the consequences."

"Understood, sir," Ryan said, his expression skeptical.

William walked out of the boardroom, the weight of Selene in his arms feeling like a leaden anchor. "Thank you for helping me, William," she whispered into his neck. "I knew you still cared."

Without looking at her, William’s voice was hard enough to shatter glass.

"Let’s get one thing straight, Selene. If I find out this is a stunt—if there is even a hint that you’re playing games with me or my family—I will make sure your time in London is the most miserable experience of your life. Do I make myself clear?"

Selene just tightened her grip on his neck, her smile never wavering. "Perfectly clear, darling."