Chapter 3 - The King's Interrogation
The private study on the third floor of the Whitmore estate was a cathedral of power. Shelves of rare leather-bound books lined the walls, a roaring fire crackled in the black marble hearth, and the heavy velvet drapes were drawn shut against the rainy night outside.
Vivian Cole sat in a high-backed leather armchair near the fire.
She had changed into a shimmering emerald silk evening gown, her blonde hair styled in flawless Hollywood waves, her diamond engagement ring catching the amber firelight. But despite the luxury, she was shaking. A glass of vintage scotch sat untouched on the mahogany side table beside her.
The heavy oak door opened and clicked shut.
Nathaniel walked in. He had removed his suit jacket, his white dress shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He didn't look at Vivian immediately; instead, he walked over to the mahogany desk, poured himself two fingers of neat bourbon, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
Vivian sprang to her feet, rushing across the room, her eyes swimming with practiced, theatrical tears.
“Nathaniel! Oh, thank God,” she cried, reaching out to clutch his arm. “The servants are acting insane! Some guard told me I couldn't leave the east wing, and—and that dreadful maid and her brat are still roaming the house! How can you allow this? After what happened today? Your poor mother is in the hospital, and I’ve been sitting here terrified out of my mind!”
Nathaniel slowly turned his head. He looked down at Vivian’s hand resting on his arm, then up into her wide, beautiful blue eyes.
There was no warmth in his gaze. No affection. Just the chilling detachment of an executioner looking at a signed death warrant.
“Take your hand off my arm, Vivian,” Nathaniel said softly.
Vivian froze. Her breath hitched. The tears in her eyes suddenly looked a little too real as the icy weight of his tone sank in.
“N-Nathaniel? What is wrong with you?” she stammered, forcing a shaky, high-pitched laugh. “You’re looking at me like... like I’m a stranger. You don't actually believe that stupid maid, do you? She’s a migrant worker with everything to lose! She pushed your mother in a fit of rage, and now she’s coaching her toddler to lie to save her skin!”
Nathaniel set his glass down on the desk with a sharp clank.
He walked toward her, his towering frame forcing Vivian to step backward until the back of her knees hit the edge of the leather armchair, dropping her back down into the seat.
“My mother regained consciousness in the ambulance for ten seconds, Vivian,” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying baritone. “Do you know what she whispered before she passed out again?”
Vivian swallowed hard, her throat going dry. “S-She was delirious from the fall! Everyone knows— गिरने—accidents happen to elderly women with canes!”
“She said, ‘I didn't fall,’” Nathaniel quoted, his eyes narrowing. “And then she told the paramedics that someone stood over her on the landing and watched her tumble.”
“She’s confused!” Vivian shrieked, panic finally breaking through her polished facade, her manicured nails digging into the leather arms of the chair. “Why are you listening to a senile old woman and a cleaning lady over me? We are getting married in four weeks! We are merging empires!”
“An empire,” Nathaniel said coldly, “that was built on absolute loyalty and truth. Not manipulation. Not backstabbing.”
“I didn't do it!” Vivian screamed, tears finally spilling over her cheeks in earnest. “Prove it! Show me the security footage! The cameras cover the entire grand staircase! If I touched Margaret, the cameras would show it!”
A slow, humorless smile touched the corners of Nathaniel’s mouth.
“Ah, the cameras,” Nathaniel murmured. “Funny thing about the security system in this house, Vivian. Only three people have the master override code to delete or alter server footage: Myself, the head of security... and you.”
Vivian went completely gray. The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
“You... you checked the servers?” she whispered.
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“Before I even came up to the nursery,” Nathaniel replied, stepping back and slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “The file for today between 2:00 PM and 3:15 PM was wiped clean from the main mainframe. But what your little IT amateur forgot, Vivian, is that our off-site backup server in Zurich mirrors every feed in real-time.”
Vivian sat frozen, her chest heaving, the game officially over.
