Christian's POV
"You've got 20 minutes left."
By the time I dragged my busted legs to the rooftop, Jillian stormed up after me like a woman unhinged. She stomped over, grabbed my earlobe, and yanked the black diamond earring straight out.
"Christian, who the hell were you talking to just now?" Her eyes burned with suspicion.
The rest of the spoiled rich crowd came spilling in behind her, ready to fan the flames.
"I saw it too," one of them said, pointing right at me. "Guy's head was gushing blood, and the first thing he did was grab that earring and start whispering like a lunatic. Gotta admit… it was creepy."
"Right?" someone else jumped in. "At first, I thought it was something sentimental—like, maybe Jillian gave it to him or something, and he was being all tragic with it. But I guess not?"
Austin stepped in and took the earring, examining it between his fingers.
"Jill, I studied jewelry design, remember? This is a rare, top-tier black diamond. If you didn't give it to him, there's no way Christian could've afforded something like this on his own. And yet… he clings to it like it's his last breath."
Then he paused, made a little show of pretending to hold back a gasp.
"Wait… Christian, don't tell me this was from a secret lover? Is that what this is about? That's why you've been trying to get up here, right? So you can throw yourself off the roof like Romeo in some tearjerker farewell to your dead girlfriend?"
He blinked, all innocent.
"No wonder Bella didn't really look like you, Jill. Don't tell me…you were just a stand-in. Like a surrogate or something—"
Before he could finish, Jillian's face went ghost-white. Then it flushed dark with rage.
She threw the earring to the ground and shrieked, "Christian! You cheated on me?! Answer me! Was Bella even my daughter?!"
"Honestly, I wish she weren't," I said, my voice flat. "Because you never deserved to be her mother."
With a grimace, I uttered, "Jillian, I want a divorce!"
She laughed coldly.
"So it's true. You really were hung up on that tramp. She's dead, and all this time you've been mourning her behind my back? That's why you kept that worthless little thing she left behind?"
Then, Jillian snapped her fingers.
"Fine. You like crying? Let's help you out. Somebody bring up thirty canisters of tear gas. Let's make sure he cries until there's nothing left."
I stared at her, stunned for a second. I didn't think she could get more twisted.
The butler stepped forward, clearly rattled. "Miss Schulz, even one canister is enough to take down a trained soldier. With Sir Christian's condition, his body can't handle that. Thirty will cause total respiratory collapse. He might not make it."
Jillian didn't even look up. She calmly pulled a mink coat around Austin's shoulders, helping him slip on a protective mask, just as she would tuck a child in for bed.
"Relax," she said with a soft smile. "They're prank-grade. The worst thing that can happen is that he sneezes and tears up a little. He'll be fine."
She adjusted Austin's collar and continued, "Christian made Austin cry. I'm just restoring the balance. He needs to learn what being a decent brother-in-law means."
Seconds later, I heard the faint hiss of gas canisters popping open one by one.
Then the smoke started to curl in, soft at first, like fog on a cold morning. But it hit fast.
It shot up my nose, burned its way down my throat, and clawed into my lungs like fire. But it didn't just sting.
It felt like my entire body was turning inside out.
My chest and stomach burned from within, not from any external source. It felt as if something inside me was tearing apart, piece by piece.
I dropped to the ground, writhing in agony.
That was when I realized.
This wasn't tear gas. It was poison gas.
Every spot the smoke touched, my wounds began to bubble and blister, the flesh turning black and rancid. The pain was beyond anything I'd ever felt. My skin wasn't just burning, it was dying.
The butler stumbled back, roaring, "The color's wrong! Miss Schulz, this isn't tear gas! I've seen this before while serving in the military. This is military-grade chemical warfare! It shuts down organs from the inside out. If we don't get him out now, he's dead!"
But Jillian just kept fixing Austin's coat, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve like it was a damn photoshoot.
Her voice stayed cool. "It's just a little smoke. Don't overreact. You're going to scare Austin."
"Besides," she said lightly, "the doctors say crying helps with detox. It's healthy."
She turned to wave him off, but then she froze when she finally saw it.
The smoke was not white.
It was a sickly, glowing yellow-green hue, and every cell in the body recognized what that meant, even if one had never seen it before.
It means death.
