“Dr. Evans. Now. Get to my study,” Luca barked into the phone.

He dropped the phone and carefully scooped me into his arms.

Despite his massive size and terrifying reputation, he held me as gently as if I were made of glass.

“Breathe, Anna,” he ordered, carrying me toward the leather sofa in the corner of the room. “Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”

I tried to focus on his face, but the room was spinning.

My vision began to blur at the edges.

“I’m so cold,” I whispered, my teeth beginning to chatter violently.

Luca laid me down on the sofa, pulling off his expensive suit jacket to drape it over my shaking body.

The study door flew open.

Dr. Evans, the private family physician who lived on the estate, rushed in carrying a black medical bag.

“What happened?” the doctor asked, immediately checking my pulse.

“She collapsed,” Luca demanded. “Her skin is freezing. Fix her.”

Dr. Evans pulled out a small penlight and shined it into my eyes.

He frowned deeply.

He checked my fingernails, which were turning a faint, horrifying shade of blue.

The doctor looked up at Luca, his face pale with shock.

“Mr. Moretti… this isn’t a pregnancy complication.”

Luca went perfectly still. “What is it?”

Dr. Evans’s voice shook.

“Her pupils are pinpointed. Her pulse is thready. These are the exact symptoms of Aconite poisoning.”

The room seemed to lose all its oxygen.

“Poison?” Luca whispered.

« Oui », dit le médecin d’un ton paniqué en cherchant une trousse de perfusion dans son sac. « On l’empoisonne. Vu la gravité de sa réaction… elle a ingéré une dose massive au cours des deux dernières heures. »

Mes pensées s’emballaient dans le brouillard de la douleur.

Il y a deux heures.

Avant que le dîner ne commence.

Vanessa était entrée dans la cuisine. Elle avait souri, feignant la gentillesse devant les autres employés.

Elle m’avait tendu une tasse de tisane chaude à la camomille.

« Bois ça pour les nerfs du bébé, Anna », avait-elle dit.

J’ai levé les yeux vers Luca, ma vue baissant rapidement.

Vous aimerez peut-être

« Le thé », ai-je murmuré d’une voix étranglée, avant que les ténèbres ne m’engloutissent finalement.

TITRE : LE POISON DANS MON THÉ DU MATIN