"My Husband Secretly Poured Something Into My Soup, Certain I Hadn’t Seen Him. The Moment He Left the Room, I Switched Our Bowls and What Happened Thirty Minutes Later Left Me Stunned.

Sophia’s jaw slackened, the color instantly draining from her cheeks until she looked almost as pale as Marcus on the kitchen floor. Her hand, which had been raised to push past me into the house, hovered awkwardly in the air.

“V-Victoria?” she stammered, her voice pitching up in sheer disbelief. Her eyes darted frantically past my shoulder, scanning the grand foyer as if expecting a ghost. “You’re… you’re here?”

“Good evening, Sophia,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I leaned against the doorframe, blocking her entry. “You look surprised to see me. Were you expecting someone else? Or perhaps… something else?”

Sophia swallowed hard, her throat visibly tightening as she tried to regain her composure. She forced a stiff, nervous laugh that sounded more like a dry cough. “What are you talking about? I was just… I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Marcus texted me saying you guys were free.”

“Did he?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s strange, because Marcus is currently indisposed. He’s having a rather difficult evening on the kitchen floor.”

Sophia’s eyes widened in sheer panic. She tried to push her way past me, her polished heels clicking sharply against the marble entryway. “Marcus? What happened? Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s having the exact same symptoms I’ve had for the last two months,” I said smoothly, stepping to the side just enough to let her rush down the hallway, right into the trap she had helped design.

Sophia didn’t hesitate. She bolted toward the kitchen, her designer bag swinging wildly against her side. But the moment she rounded the corner into the bright, open-plan kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.

Marcus was lying flat on his back now, his breathing shallow and rattling, his skin a ghastly shade of grey. The half-empty bowl of soup sat innocently on the dining table, right beside his phone, which was still unlocked on the counter.

“Marcus!” Sophia shrieked, dropping her bag and rushing to his side. She fell to her knees, grabbing his limp hand. “Marcus, what happened?! What did you do?!”

Marcus could barely lift his head. His eyes flickered open, locking onto Sophia with a look of pure, unadulterated fury and betrayal. He tried to speak, but only a thick, bubbling sound came from his throat.

“He made a mistake, Sophia,” I said, walking slowly into the kitchen and standing over them like a spectator at a morbid theater. I reached down and picked up the glass vial that had fallen from Marcus’s pocket earlier, holding it up so the overhead light caught the tiny residue of clear liquid clinging to the glass. “He accidentally served the wrong bowl. Or perhaps, fate simply intervened.”

Sophia whipped her head around, glaring up at me with a look of pure venom. All the sisterly pretense, all the fake smiles and holiday hugs, evaporated in an instant, revealing the bitter, resentful soul underneath.

“You did this,” Sophia hissed, her voice shaking with rage. “You murderous bitch! You poisoned him!”

I let out a cold, humorless laugh, tossing the empty vial onto the table where it clinked against the porcelain. “Me? Sophia, look around. This is his kitchen, his recipe, and his vial. I merely returned to sender what was intended for me.”

Sophia’s face contorted with horror as she looked back down at Marcus, then back at me. She realized then—truly realized—that the game was over, and the empire she had schemed to steal was slipping through her fingers forever.