The suffocating silence in the elegant room was shattered by a sudden, violent gasp.
Richard didn’t look at the phone. Instead, he dropped to his knees, clawing desperately at his own throat. His face flushed a deep, terrifying purple as he choked on air that wouldn’t come.
The woman in the white dress didn’t look exposed—she looked terrified. She lunged forward, falling to her knees beside him, her hands frantically hovering over his seizing body. She whipped her head around, shooting a venomous glare at the crying maid.
“You fool!” the host screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. “That pill was the antidote! I saw you slip strychnine into his champagne ten minutes ago. I was trying to save him!”
Richard let out a final, agonizing wheeze. His eyes rolled back, and his body went completely still against the hardwood floor.
The frantic panic in the room instantly evaporated into a chilling, dead quiet.
Slowly, the maid stood up straight. Her trembling shoulders steadied. The crocodile tears completely vanished from her eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating ice. A slow, wicked smirk crept across her lips as she casually smoothed the wrinkles of her grey uniform.
“I know,” the maid purred. Her voice was entirely stripped of its former panic, dripping with dark amusement.
The host froze, her breath hitching as she stared up in dawning horror. “You… you planned this?”
“Obviously,” the maid whispered, stepping gracefully over Richard’s lifeless hand. She tapped the screen of her smartphone, saving the video. “But the police won’t know about the champagne. They’ll just see a crystal-clear video of a wealthy widow dropping a mysterious pill into her husband’s drink right before he dies of poisoning.”
The maid tilted her head, her smile widening. “Thanks for the evidence, Ma’am. Checkmate.”