Chapter 611

The doorbell shattered the silence.

Nathan's heavy footsteps echoed through the penthouse as he strode toward the entrance. His expression was glacial when he swung the door open.

Harrison stood there clutching the toxicology report. His fingers trembled slightly as he handed over the documents. "Mr. Blackwood, the results came back. The wine contained trace amounts of hallucinogens. Alcohol content measured at 51% ABV."

Harrison had personally overseen the rushed lab analysis. He'd threatened to fire the entire night staff if they didn't prioritize this test. The moment he saw the results, he'd raced back to the penthouse.

Nathan scanned the report. His jaw tightened. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "Find everyone who entered this penthouse tonight. Especially whoever delivered that bottle." His voice was arctic. "Whoever dared cross this line will regret it."

Harrison swallowed hard. "Consider it done." He closed the door quietly behind him.

Nathan dragged a hand down his face. It had been years since he'd felt this level of fury.

Returning to the bedroom, his gaze darkened as it fell upon Evelyn's sleeping form. He studied her delicate features, committing every detail to memory.

This was the scene that haunted his dreams. Her in his bed. Where she belonged. Where she used to be. The thought sent razor-sharp pain through his chest.

Nathan leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. His fingers gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Goodnight, Mrs. Blackwood," he murmured. "I'll be waiting when you come back to me."

With that, he left to hunt down those responsible.

Harrison spent the predawn hours combing through security footage. He isolated the clip showing two women knocking on Evelyn's door. Within minutes, security had both actresses detained in the basement holding room.

He texted Nathan, unsure if his boss was sleeping. The response was instantaneous - a phone call in under three seconds. "Where are they?" Nathan's voice was deadly calm.

"Basement secure room. Discreet location."

Sixty seconds later, Nathan stood over the terrified woman bound to a chair. His presence filled the space like a gathering storm. Two massive security officers flanked the trembling actress, their grips ironclad on her shoulders.

Giselle Fontaine cowered in the chair, still wearing the torn white nightgown from her earlier struggle. At Nathan's nod, the guard removed the gag from her mouth.

Her arms were wrenched painfully behind her back, joints screaming in protest. Tears streamed down her contorted face. "Mr. Blackwood! Please! I'll apologize to Ms. Sinclair! I'll do anything!"

Only now did she realize her mistake. This wasn't about losing roles or reputation. This was about survival.

Nathan's lips curled into a humorless smile. His eyes held the merciless glint of a predator. "An apology?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think that undoes what you've done? That she'll smile and forget because you say you're sorry?"

A dangerous energy crackled around him. The room temperature seemed to plummet further. Somewhere in that glacial gaze, madness simmered.