Chapter 16

I was starving.

I hadn't eaten anything solid in two days, and my stomach was both empty and uneasy. The doctors had finally given me the green light to try again, but now that food was right in front of me, I hesitated.

Cole set the tray down carefully on the bed, his movements smooth, as if he had done this a hundred times before.

"Breakfast is served," he said, his voice lighter than usual.

"Thanks," I whispered, pushing myself up to sit. But the moment I looked at the food—warm toast, scrambled eggs, and a bowl of soup—my stomach twisted painfully. Hunger clawed at me, but so did nausea.

Cole noticed.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the food.

I hesitated, unsure what exactly he was asking, but I nodded.

He didn't wait for further permission. Instead, he sat down on the edge of my bed, scooping up a spoonful of soup before holding it out to me.

I blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

"Completely," he replied, his expression unreadable but his tone teasing. "You need to eat. And you're clearly overthinking it."

I opened my mouth to protest, but somehow, instead of words, I ended up with a spoonful of warm, flavorful soup on my tongue.

My eyes widened slightly, more in surprise than anything else.

"See?" Cole smirked. "Not so bad, is it?"

I swallowed, the warmth settling in my stomach. It actually wasn't bad. Before I could dwell on it, he scooped up another spoonful and held it up again, silently waiting.

And for some reason, I let him do it.

The whole thing was ridiculous. Cole—cold, calculated, and ruthless Cole—was feeding me like I was some helpless child. But the way he did it… so effortlessly, so naturally, with just the right amount of care, made my chest feel strangely warm.

"You're good at this," I muttered before taking another bite.

His lips quirked. "At what?"

I shrugged, chewing. "Taking care of people."

His smirk faltered for half a second, as if the words caught him off guard. But then he recovered, bringing the spoon back to my lips.

"I don't take care of people," he said smoothly. "I make sure they don't die. There's a difference."

I rolled my eyes but opened my mouth anyway.

It was almost too easy.

I barely realized how fast I was eating, too caught up in the moment—the way his fingers brushed against my skin as he adjusted the spoon, the way his voice dipped slightly whenever he spoke, the way his eyes flickered to my lips every time I swallowed.

And then, suddenly, he cleared his throat.

"You're done," he announced.

I blinked. "What?"

Cole leaned back, setting the spoon down. "Unless, of course, you'd like to eat the plate as well?"

Heat flooded my face as I realized I had, in fact, finished everything. The bowl was empty, the toast was gone, and I had been so distracted I didn't even notice.

"Shut up," I muttered, crossing my arms.

He chuckled, standing up. "No need to thank me," he said smugly. "It was adorable watching you get all dreamy-eyed over breakfast."

I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, but he dodged it effortlessly.

"Get out," I groaned, flopping back against the bed.

But even as he walked away, I could still feel the lingering warmth of his presence.

And the worst part?

I didn't hate it.

********

Moments later, Cole walked back in, his expression colder than usual.

Something was wrong.

I sat up a little, my heartbeat picking up. "What is it?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled out his phone and held it out to me.

"The CCTV footage from the morning you were poisoned has been recovered."

My stomach clenched.

For a moment, I didn't move. I wasn't sure if I wanted to see it. Knowing the truth meant I couldn't ignore it anymore. It would be real. Permanent.

But Cole didn't give me the option to hesitate. He pressed play.

The video started with a quiet kitchen scene. Several maids were preparing breakfast, their movements routine and practiced. Nothing seemed out of place.

Then, one of them turned as if someone had called her. Another followed, and within seconds, the kitchen was left unattended.

That's when she appeared.

Camille.

Paul's wife.

I felt the blood drain from my face as she stepped into view, glancing around cautiously. Her movements were smooth, efficient—like she'd done this before.

She pulled out a small vial, poured its contents into a glass of juice, then calmly walked out as if nothing had happened.

The video ended.

My hands were ice-cold as I stared at the dark screen.

"She—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard. "She actually did it."

Cole took the phone back, his expression unreadable. "She did."

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to process it.

I had suspected the Caldwells, of course. But Camille?

Why her?

Did Paul know? Was this something she did on his behalf? Or was she acting alone?

A million questions raced through my mind, each one more overwhelming than the last.

"I don't understand," I murmured. "Why would she do this?"

Cole studied me for a moment before speaking. "There are two possibilities," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Either she was acting on Paul's orders… or she had her own reasons."

I exhaled shakily.

Both options were terrifying.

If Paul had ordered it, then he was even more ruthless than I had thought.

If Camille had done it on her own… what was she hoping to gain?

Before I could spiral any further, I felt the warmth of Cole's hand on my chin, tilting my face up.

"Hey." His voice was low, steady. "Breathe."

I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath.

His touch was firm but not rough, grounding me in a way that startled me. It was just enough to pull me back from the chaos in my head.

I sucked in a deep breath, my pulse still racing.

"We know the truth now," he said. "And that gives us the advantage."

I swallowed, nodding slowly. "What do we do?"

Cole's thumb brushed lightly over my jaw, a fleeting, almost thoughtless motion. But it sent a shiver down my spine.

He smirked slightly, though his eyes remained sharp.

"We make her pay."