“Don't Eat That Cake! She Put Something in It!” a Poor Girl Cried to the Millionaire—What He Found Shocked Everyone

While Alexander prepared for battle on the forty-fifth floor, the morning sun poured through the high windows of VIP Room 402 at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital.

Celeste Fontaine groaned, her eyelids fluttering open. The harsh fluorescent lights above made her head throb with agonizing intensity. Her throat felt raw, her stomach felt like it had been scrubbed with wire wool, and her limbs weighed a thousand pounds.

She turned her head sluggishly.

Sitting in the leather armchair beside her bed, calmly reading a printed copy of the morning financial journal, was Alexander Sterling.

Celeste’s breath caught. For a split second, sheer terror flashed through her eyes. She had been told—she had known—that the poison was fatal within minutes. How was he sitting here? Why was he breathing?

“A-Alexander...” she whispered, her voice cracking like dry glass. “You’re... you’re alive?”

Alexander lowered the journal slowly. He didn't smile. His eyes were like two pieces of polished flint.

“Surprised, Celeste?” he asked, his voice chillingly calm. “Did you expect to wake up this morning and find yourself sole heir to a billion-dollar portfolio?”

“I don't... I don't know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, frantically trying to construct a lie, though her trembling hands and pale skin betrayed every word. “I was sick... it must have been the seafood... the champagne...”

Alexander stood up, walking slowly to the side of her bed. He tossed her burner phone onto the hospital tray table right beside her hand.

“The toxicology report confirms synthetic aconite poisoning,” Alexander said, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper. “And this phone? We extracted every encrypted message between you and Julian Vance. The wire transfers, the conspiracy to commit murder, the fraudulent co-signer clauses you slipped into our asset agreement two days ago.”

Celeste stared at the phone, the color draining entirely from her face. The game was up. The mask had shattered beyond repair.

“Alexander, please!” she sobbed, suddenly reaching out with trembling fingers to grab his sleeve. “Vance... he forced me! He threatened to ruin my family, to take everything I had! I made a mistake!”

Alexander pulled his arm away as if her touch were toxic.

“You didn't make a mistake, Celeste,” he said quietly, looking down at her with profound disgust. “You made a choice. And now, you get to live with the consequences.”