Chapter 4 - The Confrontation in the Nursery
Standing in the doorway was Mrs. Gable, the stern, sixty-year-old house manager who had served the Whitmore family for over two decades. Her gray hair was pulled back into an unyielding bun, and her eyes scanned the room with hawk-like precision, finally locking onto the open bottle in Elena's hand.
"I asked you a question, Elena. What are you doing touching the baby's feeding supplies?" Mrs. Gable's voice was low, sharp, and devoid of warmth.
Elena’s mind raced. She couldn't reveal that she suspected Vanessa—not yet, not without proof that would hold up outside this gilded cage. She had to think fast.
"I... I heard Dr. Keller talking about the baby's stomach issues," Elena said, pitching her voice to sound appropriately nervous and submissive. "As a mother myself, I was worried. I wanted to see if the formula separation looked normal. Back in my diner days, we had issues with dairy spoilage in industrial fridges. I just wanted to check if the milk had gone sour."
Mrs. Gable stepped into the room, her gaze boring into Elena's eyes, searching for any sign of deception. The silence stretched for agonizing seconds. Finally, the older woman stepped forward and snatched the bottle from Elena's hand, placing it back into the refrigerator with a sharp click.
"Your job is to chop vegetables and prepare Mr. Whitmore's dietary meals, Elena. Not to play pediatrician or forensic investigator," Mrs. Gable scolded, though her tone softened just a fraction. "Mr. Whitmore is a grieving man under immense pressure since Mrs. Caroline's tragic accident. The last thing this household needs is panicking staff spreading rumors. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mrs. Gable. It won't happen again," Elena said, lowering her head in a display of compliance.
"Good. Now, get downstairs. Mr. Whitmore called from the hospital. Little Diego's stomach has stabilized slightly, but he's staying overnight. Mr. Whitmore will be back late this evening for a quiet dinner. I expect the pan-seared Chilean sea bass and truffle risotto prepared to absolute perfection."
"Right away," Elena murmured, turning and walking past the house manager.
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As she descended the stairs, her mind was a whirlwind of terror and determination. Mrs. Gable was fiercely loyal to the Whitmore estate—perhaps blindly so. But Sebastian Whitmore was at the hospital, unaware that the poison was waiting for his son right inside his own refrigerator.
Elena knew she had to get that bottle out of the house. She needed to have it tested by an independent laboratory in L.A. before Vanessa realized a sample was missing and replaced it with a clean one.
