I caught my recovering wife's own mother betraying her inside my mansion while the nursery camera mysteriously went dark every single morning. Everyone believed she was the perfect mother and grandmother, but the hidden camera I secretly installed exposed a truth so horrifying that even the people who feared me the most never saw it coming.

For the next three days, I played the role of the unsuspecting husband.

Every morning, I kissed Isabella on the forehead before leaving for 'business.' Every afternoon, I smiled politely at Evelyn as she bustled around the kitchen, baking organic bread and posting videos about 'caring for her recovering angel.'

Behind the scenes, Dr. Vance’s neutralizing treatment was working wonders.

Without the daily dose of paralytics in her system, Isabella’s color returned rapidly. Her hands stopped trembling. The dark circles under her eyes began to fade, and by the fourth evening, she was able to sit up in bed, holding baby Luca and laughing at a book I was reading to her.

Evelyn, however, was growing visibly desperate.

From my office monitors, I watched her frantic reactions every morning. She would enter the nursery, look at Isabella sitting up energetic and radiant, and her jaw would drop in sheer disbelief.

“You look... remarkably well today, Isabella,” Evelyn said on the morning feed, her voice carrying a sharp, hysterical edge beneath her fake smile. “Are you sure you aren't overexerting yourself? You know how dangerous post-birth relapses can be.”

“I feel wonderful, Mom!” Isabella replied, gently bouncing Luca on her lap. “It’s the strangest thing. It’s like a heavy fog just lifted from my brain. Vincent’s doctor gave me some new vitamins, and I feel stronger than I have in months.”

Evelyn’s eyes flicked nervously toward the nightstand where the untouched mug of tea sat cooling.

“You didn't drink your tea,” Evelyn noted, her voice dropping into a tense whisper.

“Oh, I was so busy playing with Luca I forgot,” Isabella smiled. “Besides, I think I’m done with herbal tea for a while.”

Evelyn’s hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

That afternoon, while Isabella was taking a nap, Evelyn slipped down into the estate’s secondary kitchen in the basement—a area she thought was completely private.

She pulled out her burner phone, dialing a number with trembling fingers.

I switched on the audio intercept feed in my office.

“He’s doing something!” Evelyn hissed into the phone, her sweet demeanor entirely gone, replaced by the ugly, raspy tone of a cornered rat. “The drugs aren't working anymore! She’s recovering! If she gets fully healthy, Vincent will take her on that trip to Switzerland, and I’ll never get sole custody of the baby!”

The voice on the other end was cold, muffled by an scrambler. “You were given a simple job, Evelyn. Deliver the heir or the Monaco firm forecloses on your properties by Friday.”

“I need something stronger!” Evelyn demanded, tears of frustration smearing her heavy makeup. “Give me something that works fast! A sudden heart attack! We can blame it on a blood clot from the delivery!”

“I’ll have a runner drop a package at the estate gate in two hours,” the voice replied before hanging up.