Chapter 2 - THE DEVIL IN PASTELThe smell of fresh lavender and toasted brioche filled the grand kitchen of my estate when I walked upstairs twenty minutes later. To anyone passing by, it was a picture of suburban perfection. Evelyn was humming softly at the granite island, wearing a pristine apron, carefully plating fresh fruit for breakfast.
"Good morning, Vincent!" she greeted me, offering a motherly smile that reached everywhere except her cold gray eyes. "I made your coffee just the way you like it. Black, two sugars."
"Thank you, Evelyn," I said smoothly, stepping into the kitchen and adjusting the cuffs of my suit jacket. "How is Isabella feeling this morning? I noticed she was still asleep when I left the bedroom."
Evelyn let out a dramatic, sympathetic sigh, placing a soft hand on her chest. "Oh, poor thing. She had another rough night. She’s just so weak, Vincent. Honestly, I’m getting very worried about her mental state, too. She seems so confused, so forgetful. Just this morning, she swore she took her heart pills, but when I checked her organizer, they were gone. I’m afraid she’s losing her grip a bit with all this postpartum stress."
The sheer audacity of her lie was almost impressive. If I hadn't watched her dump those exact pills down the drain thirty minutes ago, I might have believed the heartbreak in her voice.
"Is that so?" I asked, taking a slow sip of the coffee she handed me. I didn't let a drop pass my teeth, subtly letting it touch my lips before setting the cup down on the counter. "The doctors assured me her recovery was on track last week."
"Well, doctors see what they want to see during short visits," Evelyn said, walking over to the stove. "A mother knows her daughter. Isabella has always been fragile, Vincent. Even as a child, whenever pressure built up, she crumbled. It’s a good thing I came to stay when I did. I don't know what would happen to sweet little Luca if I weren't here to keep this house running."
"You've made yourself indispensable," I remarked, my tone deliberately neutral.
"Family helps family," she said sweetly, flashing a warm smile. "Oh! Before I forget, I took the liberty of updating my blog and Instagram page with a little update for our friends and followers. People are so worried about Isabella! Look at this comment section."
She handed me her phone. On the screen was a posted photo of Evelyn cradling Luca, with Isabella barely visible and washed out in the background bed. The caption read: 'Prayers for my sweet daughter as she battles severe postpartum fatigue. Holding down the home front and keeping my grandson safe. A mother’s love never sleeps. #Blessed #FamilyFirst #GrandmotherLove.'
The comments section was flooded with thousands of praises: 'You are an angel, Evelyn!' 'Vincent and Isabella are so lucky to have you!' 'What a true matriarch!'
"The public loves a selfless mother," I noted, handing the phone back to her.
"They just appreciate authentic goodness, Vincent," she replied smoothly, taking her phone back with a satisfied smirk. "By the way, I think it would be best if we delayed Isabella’s family visits for another month. She’s far too frail to see anyone. Even your presence sometimes seems to... overstimulate her."
She was trying to isolate my wife completely—cutting off her husband, her friends, and her support system so that Evelyn became her only link to reality.
"I’ll take that into consideration," I said, pulling out my phone as it vibrated. It was a text from Marcus: 'Dr. Mercer is waiting in the unmarked van down the block. Send the sample.'
"I have an early meeting in the city," I told Evelyn, leaning in slightly. "Take extra good care of my wife today, Evelyn. You have no idea how closely I am paying attention to her health."
For a split second, her smile flickered. A flash of hesitation crossed her face before her composed mask slipped back into place. "Of course, Vincent. She is my daughter, after all."
"Exactly," I murmured, turning on my heel and heading toward the front foyer. "That’s what makes this so important."
Down the driveway, I met Marcus behind the blacked-out glass of an unmarked SUV. I handed him a small sterile container holding a sample of the tea I had quietly collected from Isabella’s bedside table while she slept.
"Take this directly to Mercer," I ordered Marcus. "I want a full toxicology board. I need to know every chemical compound in that glass by noon."
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"Consider it done, boss," Marcus said, taking the sample. "What about the jammer?"
"Leave it running," I replied, staring back up at the third-floor nursery window where Evelyn’s shadow moved behind the sheer curtains. "Let her think her little blackouts are working. The higher she builds her castle of lies, the harder she’s going to hit the pavement when I pull the foundation out from under her."
