Chapter 2: Poison, Power, and Betrayal

I spent the whole afternoon hunched over my embroidery in Jackson's study. After watching me for a long time, Jackson finally said, "Your tiger looks pretty good."

The afternoon sun slanted through the window, catching the gold threads. I squinted at my work, half proud, half nervous.

I hesitated for a moment and said weakly, "Is it possible I was actually making a dragon?"

I tried to laugh it off, but my nerves were shot. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding from across the room.

Damn, my bad habit of talking back again. If he says it's a tiger, it's a tiger.

I mentally scolded myself, but I couldn't help the stubborn streak that always got me in trouble.

"You know, tigers and dragons go hand in hand. When I embroidered, I made a dragon that looks like a tiger. You have a good eye." I looked at Jackson, trying to flatter him. "How do you think my tiger looks?"

I batted my eyelashes, hoping to charm him into letting me off the hook. The tension in the room eased a little.

Jackson frowned, but then said, "Full of tiger energy, strong and powerful."

He sounded almost impressed. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

I put away the needle and carefully tied the charm to Jackson's belt. "It's finished. I won't come to your study tomorrow, so I don't distract you from work."

My fingers lingered on the knot, making sure it was secure. I was already dreaming of a quiet day, far from the watchful eyes of the Prescott men.

Jackson played with the charm. "I have a robe. If you're free tomorrow, come embroider it for me too."

He said it like it was nothing, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My shoulders slumped a little.

Embroider the robe too? Why don't I embroider your skull as well?

Dad, this house is too complicated. Maybe our family shouldn't try to make it here.

I bit my tongue, but the thought made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I missed home more than ever.

Cursing in my heart, I kept embroidering. With a flurry of effort, I finished the back of Jackson's robe in a week.

I spent hours hunched over the fabric, pricking my fingers and muttering under my breath. By the end, I was half-convinced the robe was cursed.

Jackson held up the robe and asked me, "Did you embroider a dragon or a tiger?"

He turned the robe this way and that, as if he could decipher my secrets in the stitches.

"Guess."

I've learned. Be clever. Whatever you guess, that's what it is.

I gave him my best poker face, refusing to give anything away.

"I think it's a dragon?" Jackson probed.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.

I looked at Jackson with sparkling eyes. "You really do have sharp eyes."

I smiled sweetly, even as I cursed under my breath. There was no winning with this man.

Ugh, damn it, I embroidered a fierce tiger swimming in a river!

But if he wanted a dragon, then a dragon it was. I was learning to survive, one stitch at a time.

With the robe done, I figured Jackson couldn't keep me in the study anymore, but he specifically asked me to come grind coffee for him.

I stared at the fancy coffee grinder on his desk, wondering if this was another test. The whole house seemed to run on secrets and caffeine.

Mrs. Quinn said that a little fragrance and attention would really help my relationship with Jackson.

She handed me a tin of imported coffee beans and winked, like she was sharing the secret to a happy marriage. I wasn't convinced.

I sighed. Mrs. Quinn doesn't understand. There are so many secrets in Jackson's study—if I see anything, I might not live long.

I eyed the locked cabinets and the stacks of paperwork, wondering what skeletons were hiding in there. No one in this house got here by playing fair, that's for sure.

Dad, better keep your phone close. Your daughter might be joining you soon.

I almost texted him a dramatic farewell, but decided against it. No sense in worrying him more than I already had.

Step by step, I shuffled to the study and suddenly took out a bandana from my pocket and tied it around my head, feeling enlightened. For a second, I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass—looking like a sitcom housewife from the '90s. All I needed was a feather duster.

"Mrs. Prescott, what are you doing?"

One of the maids peeked in, eyebrows raised. I grinned sheepishly.

"Just for fun, hehe." I felt along the wall as I walked, but after a few steps, Jackson grabbed my hand.

He appeared out of nowhere, his grip gentle but firm. I jumped a little, startled.

Jackson's hand was warm and dry. He led me to the desk. "Why are your hands so sweaty?"

His tone was half-teasing, half-concerned. I tried to hide my nerves, wiping my palms on my skirt.

Like I could just admit I was scared. I fiddled with my sleeve, glancing away.

I forced a smile. "Hehe, it's my first time doing something fun, so I'm a bit nervous."

I hoped the joke would land, but Jackson just looked at me, his eyes searching.

In the quiet, I vaguely heard Jackson's low laughter. What is he laughing at?

The sound was soft, almost tender. It made my cheeks flush, though I wasn't sure why.

Living in constant fear gave me a fever so bad I couldn't even get out of bed. The family doctor said I worried too much and that it was just nerves.

He was an older guy, kind face and all. Told me to rest and drink fluids, but I knew what he meant: stop poking your nose where it doesn't belong. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at myself.

I collapsed on the bed, wailing. Can't I just be sick for a while? Life in bed is so peaceful.

I pulled the covers over my head, savoring the rare quiet. No one expected anything from me when I was sick.

Before I could finish rolling around in bed, I heard Mrs. Quinn outside greeting Jackson.

Their voices were muffled, but I could hear the concern in Mrs. Quinn's tone. I groaned, knowing my peace was about to end.

I rolled out of bed and tried to stand up. Jackson picked me up. "Get up. Why are you still acting so formal?"

He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, his brow furrowed with worry. I felt like a kid, but I didn't fight it.

Trying not to freak out, I sat awkwardly in Jackson's arms.

My cheeks burned, but I kept my head down, afraid to meet his eyes.

Jackson ordered someone to bring a bowl of chicken soup, scooped a spoonful, and held it to my mouth. "You need to eat something light when you're sick. I made this myself."

It actually smelled good, but I couldn't help picturing all the ways it could be poisoned. My imagination ran wild.

All I could think was, he poisoned this himself, personally poisoned it, poison, poison.

I eyed the soup warily, but hunger won out. I leaned in and took a tentative sip.

Fine, I'll die first. I leaned over and took a sip. "Hoo hoo hoo～"

The soup was piping hot, and I nearly burned my tongue. I blew on it, trying to play it cool.

Jackson looked at me in confusion. I made a face. "As expected of your cooking—even the soup packs a punch."

I stuck out my tongue and made a silly face, hoping to lighten the mood. Jackson's lips twitched in amusement.

Jackson burst out laughing and blew on the soup in the spoon. "It's not hot now."

He held the spoon out again, more gently this time. I took another sip, feeling oddly cared for.

Honestly, Jackson is really good-looking, and even better-looking when he smiles. But no matter how good-looking, it can't be a get-out-of-jail-free card.

I watched him for a moment, caught off guard by the softness in his eyes. Still, I reminded myself to stay on guard.

The more I thought about it, the more upset I got. I sniffled twice, then suddenly blurted, "I want to eat barbecue ribs!"

It came out of nowhere, but I couldn't help it. The craving hit hard.

"From Charlie's Grill?"

His answer surprised me. Charlie's Grill was my favorite spot back home, famous for their smoky ribs and tangy sauce.

I looked confused. "How did you know?"

I tried to play it cool, but my surprise must have shown on my face.

Jackson tapped my head. "You can't eat that while you're sick. After the governor's spring gala, I'll take you out for it."

He sounded almost fond, like he was making a promise he actually meant to keep. For a second, I let myself believe him.

I perked up, took the bowl from Jackson, and gulped down two mouthfuls. "Deal."

I wiped my mouth and grinned, suddenly feeling a little lighter. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

I've always bounced back fast—tough as nails since I was a kid—so after two days of rest, I was as good as new.

On the third morning, I jumped out of bed, stretched, and did a little victory dance. Mrs. Quinn fussed over me, but I waved her off, ready to get back to work.

Mrs. Quinn said that as a daughter-in-law, I had to help the governor's wife manage the spring gala. The household staff handled most of it, so what could I help with? It was just to show my face and prove I'm a proper daughter-in-law.

I straightened my dress and practiced my polite smile in the mirror. This was all about appearances, after all.

I obediently stood beside the governor's wife, listening to her gently explain that the spring gala was meant to help the young men and women of the city pair up.

She had that sweet-tea voice that always meant trouble. Her words were syrupy, full of hidden meaning. I nodded along, trying to look attentive.

I became alert and cautiously said, "Are you planning to pick two mistresses for Jackson at the gala?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. The room went dead silent. I braced myself for a scolding.

The governor's wife paused, then patted my hand reassuringly. "You and Jackson just got married. What's the rush about mistresses?"

She smiled, but there was steel in her gaze. I nodded, pretending to be reassured, but my stomach twisted in knots.

I forced a stiff smile. When I came out and finally relaxed, I saw my cousin Emily, who was on duty with the security detail today.

I spotted Emily—finally, a friendly face. I waved so hard my arm ached.

It was the joy of seeing a relative. I cheerfully waved to my cousin. "Emily! Emily!"

My voice echoed down the marble hallway. Emily turned, her face lighting up with a grin.

Emily paused and saluted me. "Mrs. Prescott, have you been well lately?"

She always played by the rules, even with family. I grinned back, blinking away tears.

I missed my father, but didn't want my cousin to worry, so I nodded with red eyes. "All is well. The governor's wife and Jackson are good to me."

I tried to sound upbeat, but Emily saw right through me. She squeezed my shoulder gently.

My cousin patted my head. "This house isn't as free as home. You must be careful in everything. If anything happens, remember to call home."

Her words were soft, but they gave me strength. I nodded, promising myself I'd remember.

That night, as I pondered the governor's wife's talk of mistresses, Jackson, smelling of whiskey, pushed open the door and entered the bedroom.

His tie was crooked, and his hair was a mess. I could tell he'd had a long night—maybe too much to drink.

I hurried to help Jackson wash up and change, but Jackson stopped my hand and asked, unable to tell if he was happy or angry, "Did you see your cousin today?"

His voice was rough, almost accusing. I froze.

I nodded. "Emily was on duty today. We chatted for a bit in the hallway."

I kept my tone light, but my heart pounded. I hoped this wasn't about to turn into another interrogation.

Jackson's eyes suddenly reddened, and he lowered his head to question me. "Lila, tell me, do you even care about me?"

His words caught me off guard. I stared at him, unsure how to respond. Was this a trick question?

What kind of act is this? I nodded in a panic. "Of course I care about you."

I said it quickly, hoping he'd drop it. The last thing I needed was to upset him further.

"I want to take a mistress!"

He blurted it out, his voice trembling with something like desperation. I blinked, trying to process what he meant.

"Do you have someone in mind?" I let out a long breath. So it was about this. It must have been discussed between Jackson and the governor's wife.

I tried to sound calm, even as my mind spun with possibilities. Maybe this was just another one of their power games.

Jackson stared at me for a long time, then flung his jacket and left. "Let Lila arrange it."

He stormed out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling hollow, not sure what to feel.

Arranging mistresses for Jackson could be a big or small matter. If I chose someone directly, it might look like playing favorites, so early the next morning, I went to the governor's wife's room.

I rehearsed what I would say a dozen times before knocking. My hands shook as I clutched the folder of candidates.

She handed me a jewelry box and praised me for being thoughtful, then immediately picked two officials' daughters to join the Prescott estate.

The jewelry sparkled in the morning sun, but it felt more like a bribe than a gift. I thanked her, bowing my head.

The governor's wife said Jackson still had no kids, so having more women in the house would help me. Whoever gave birth to a son would be raised by me.

Her words stung, but I forced a smile. I knew this was just how things worked in families like ours.

On the night the new girls moved in, I specially asked Mrs. Quinn to send them two bottles of good wine.

I picked out the best vintage from the cellar, hoping it would help break the ice. The whole house buzzed with gossip.

Mrs. Quinn came back and said Jackson was planning to stay at Caroline's tonight.

She looked at me with sympathy, but I just nodded, pretending not to care.

I sat idly in the hallway, watching the moon. Caroline's father was a retired colonel, a great help to Jackson.

The moon hung low over the garden, casting long shadows across the lawn. I hugged my knees to my chest, lost in thought.

Mrs. Quinn probably saw I was listless and tried to comfort me.

She draped a shawl over my shoulders, her hands gentle. I managed a weak smile.

I stopped her. "No need to worry, Mrs. Quinn. I know my place. Sooner or later, Jackson will make someone else his wife. I just hope my family won't get dragged down when that happens."

My voice was steadier than I felt. I stared at the moon, wishing I could disappear.

Mrs. Quinn sighed deeply and shook her head, draping a blanket over my shoulders.

She squeezed my hand before leaving, her eyes full of worry.

When Caroline came to serve me tea, even makeup couldn't hide her tiredness.

Her hands trembled as she poured, and I could see the dark circles under her eyes. I almost felt sorry for her.

Feeling sour inside, I told Caroline to get up and rest in the East Wing. If she needed anything, she could ask Mrs. Quinn.

She nodded gratefully, her eyes shining with relief. I watched her go, not sure what to feel.

For several days, Jackson didn't give me the time of day. Even during the spring gala, when he sat next to me, he felt as cold as a block of ice.

His silence was louder than any argument. I caught him glancing at me once or twice, but he looked away just as quickly.

I thought he was sick. He took mistresses, gave them gifts as he should, but still kept a cold face every day. Who was he putting on a show for? I rolled my eyes and sat a little farther from Jackson.

I shifted in my seat, pretending to be interested in the flower arrangements. Anything to avoid another awkward silence.

During the gala, Jackson called my cousin by name and said he wanted to arrange a marriage for her.

His voice carried across the room, drawing everyone's attention. Emily looked startled, then quickly composed herself.

For my cousin's happiness, I shamelessly tugged at Jackson's sleeve and whispered in his ear, "Emily likes Hannah Watson, the second daughter of the state attorney."

I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't be offended by my boldness. Emily shot me a grateful look from across the room.

Jackson was stunned for a while, then suddenly broke into a big, easy grin. "I've heard from Lila that Emily has admired Hannah Watson for a long time. Let me arrange a marriage for them. What does Mrs. Gray think?"

The room buzzed with excitement. Mrs. Gray beamed, and Emily blushed, her eyes shining with happiness.

My cousin happily stood up, thanked him, and even winked at me when no one was looking.

I grinned back, feeling a rare moment of triumph. Maybe things were looking up, after all.

I raised my chin at my cousin, indicating it was a small matter.

It felt good to help family, even in small ways.

Jackson scooted over to sit next to me and even picked out a couple pieces of food for me. Looking at the salmon in the dish, I couldn't help but sigh. This man was nothing if not moody.

I picked at the salmon, wondering what mood he'd be in tomorrow. Life in the Prescott house was always a guessing game.

The whole house became much warmer than before. Mrs. Quinn also said Jackson seemed to be in a good mood lately and told me to seize the chance to have a little boy.

She whispered her advice in my ear, like she was sharing a secret. I just smiled and nodded, knowing I had my own plans.

How could I tell Mrs. Quinn that I was secretly on the pill? The family was unstable, and my position as wife was even more so. If I got pregnant, wouldn't that be a death sentence for me?

I hid the pills in my vanity, checking every night to make sure they hadn't been tampered with. In this house, trust was a luxury I couldn't afford.

The good days didn't last long. Jackson came into the courtyard with a cold face again, and I became anxious.

I watched him from the window, my stomach twisting with dread. Trouble was never far behind in this family.

Did I make a mistake recently? Did my father make a mistake? Did our old gardener make a mistake?

I chewed my lip, fingers tapping nervously. In the Prescott house, even the smallest slip could be fatal.

Jackson sat on the sofa and said in a low voice, "Caroline Blake from the East Wing is pregnant."

His words hung in the air, heavy as thunder. I braced myself for the fallout.

Looking at Jackson's expression, I didn't understand what he meant, so I asked, "Then I'll assign more people to help Caroline, or should I take care of her myself?"

I tried to sound practical, but my voice wavered. I could feel Jackson's eyes boring into me.

He clenched his teeth. "I've never touched Caroline. I haven't touched any of the women you sent in!"

I could feel his anger in the air. I shrank back, not sure what to say.

My eyes widened even more. What does that mean, he's impotent?

A single, wild thought flashed through my mind. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

Wait, if he's impotent, how did Caroline get pregnant?

The realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all.

Jackson reached out and closed my gaping jaw. "The night I stayed in the East Wing, I didn't touch Caroline. She slept on the couch. But today, the family doctor checked her and said she's been pregnant for over a month."

His hand was gentle, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. I searched his face for any sign of a lie, but found none.

I gestured above Jackson's head. "She gave you a green hat?"

I couldn't help myself—the words just tumbled out. I pictured myself pulling up a chair with a bowl of popcorn, watching the drama unfold.

Where's my popcorn and sweet tea when I need them?

A part of me wanted to laugh, but I managed to hold it in. The situation was just too serious.

Stunned, but now is not the time for gossip.

I straightened up, forcing myself to focus. This was bigger than either of us.

This matter is tricky. If I handle it rashly without evidence, people might say I harmed the family heir. If I don't handle it and let the child be born, it will taint the family name. Moreover, Jackson still needs the Blake family's support. Falling out with them isn't good.

I weighed my options carefully, knowing one wrong move could blow everything up.

I looked up and asked Jackson, "How do you plan to handle this?"

I kept my voice steady, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Jackson leaned over and pinched my chin, frowning. "I just said, I never touched those women."

His grip was firm, but I could see how desperate he was. I pulled away, angry and confused.

I angrily brushed Jackson's hand away. Is this the time to say such useless things?

I glared at him, my patience wearing thin. We needed solutions, not excuses.

Seeing my angry face, Jackson changed his expression and asked with a smile, "Lila, are you angry? I thought you were just clay, easy to shape however I want."

His words stung, but I refused to let him see how much. I crossed my arms and looked away.

I've never seen anyone smile after being cheated on. Pushed Jackson away as he tried to get closer. "I'll have Mrs. Quinn quietly assign some people to the East Wing. If Caroline is really pregnant, she'll definitely try to contact her lover. It's best if we catch them in the act, so we can deal with it fairly and the Blake family can't blame us."

I spoke quickly, outlining my plan. Jackson nodded, finally looking serious.

Jackson smiled. "Arrange it as you see fit. If you're unsure about anything, go find Mr. Sanders."

He stood up, his confidence returning. I felt a small surge of pride—maybe I was better at this than I thought.

The East Wing was unusually quiet for several days. On my fifteenth time peeking over the garden fence, I happened to run into Jackson coming in.

We both froze, like two kids sneaking cookies. Jackson gave me a sheepish wave, and I couldn't help but laugh.

The air was thick with awkwardness. Jackson guiltily waved at me. Why is he guilty? I'm not here to catch him cheating.

I shrugged, telling him to relax. We were both just trying to survive.

I waved my hand, telling him to go ahead, and went back to my room, bored, flipping through books.

I tried to distract myself with a novel, but my mind kept wandering back to the drama unfolding in the East Wing.

Drowsy and about to turn off the lamp and sleep, Jackson came in with a flushed face, swaying. I quickly got up to support him.

His skin was hot to the touch, and I could smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath. I wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him to the bed.

Jackson pulled my hand to his burning forehead, calling me softly, "Lila, Lila."

His voice was so vulnerable, it made my heart ache. I stroked his hair, whispering soothing words.

His voice made me shiver. I freed a hand to pour him a cup of cold water.

I held the glass to his lips, watching as he sipped slowly. He looked up at me, eyes glassy.

"Lila, I think I've been drugged," Jackson said hoarsely. "I want another cup."

His words sent a chill down my spine. I set the glass down, my hands shaking.

"Caroline is so bold? She dared to drug you?" I stared wide-eyed, then realized, "She—she wants to pin the child in her belly on you?"

The pieces clicked into place. I felt a surge of anger on Jackson's behalf, even as fear gnawed at me.

Jackson's face was as red as a boiled lobster. He reached out and pinned me under him. "Lila, can I?"

His hands trembled as he held me, his breath coming in short gasps. I nodded, hoping it would help.

I—of course I can. I'm the wife, who else but me!

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what might come next. My heart raced.

I nodded indignantly and closed my eyes tightly. Jackson's hot breath fell between my brows.

The room was silent except for our breathing. I waited, tense and uncertain.

After a while and nothing happened, I opened one eye and nudged Jackson, only to find he'd fainted.

Panic surged through me. I shook him gently. "Jackson!" He didn't respond.

Panicking, I settled Jackson down and quickly ordered someone to fetch the family doctor and call the governor and his wife.

I raced to the door, shouting for help. The staff scrambled into action, their faces pale with fear.

Jackson vomited off and on for two days, and later there was a faint trace of blood.

The house was eerily quiet, everyone on edge. I barely slept, watching over him all night.

Looking at Jackson's pale face, I couldn't help but mutter, "When I was little, my mom was poisoned by a pregnant mistress at home. Since then, my dad raised me alone. He thought marrying me into a decent family would keep me safe, but I was assigned to marry you and have lived in fear ever since."

My voice was barely a whisper. I stroked Jackson's hair, wishing things were different for both of us.

I reached out and brushed Jackson's long eyelashes. "Actually, you're pitiful too. Your dad chose the senator's daughter for your brother, but for you, it's just the daughter of a minor councilman—no power, no influence, no money."

I sighed, feeling a strange kinship with him. We were both pawns in someone else's game.

Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. I shivered and got up, hurriedly telling someone to fetch Mr. Sanders.

I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, steeling myself for what I had to do next.

After dismissing everyone, I hesitantly asked, "Mr. Sanders, has there been any unusual movement from Jackson's brother?"

Mr. Sanders was a tall, thin man with sharp eyes. He regarded me carefully, choosing his words carefully.

Mr. Sanders frowned. "Why do you ask about the younger Mr. Prescott?"

His tone was cautious, but not unfriendly. I hesitated, choosing my words carefully.

"A few days ago, Caroline sent me a basket of starfruit. That fruit is rare here and only grows south of Maplewood." My voice was hoarse. "Recently, did Jackson's brother visit Maplewood? It's just a short drive from there."

I watched his reaction closely, hoping for a clue. Mr. Sanders's expression didn't change, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. The silence stretched.

I hesitated. "Maybe I'm overthinking, but Jackson hasn't opened his eyes for two days."

My hands twisted in my lap. I was terrified of what the answer might be.

"You're careful. I'll first mobilize the family's security to secure the house." Mr. Sanders pondered for a moment. "This is a big matter. It's good for you to be cautious."

He nodded approvingly, then strode out to issue orders. I felt a small surge of relief.

I nodded anxiously. "I understand. I've already asked someone to call the governor's wife."

I paced the room, waiting for her arrival. The tension in the air was suffocating.

When she arrived, the house was already heavily guarded, and the previous doctors were kept in a side room.

The governor's wife swept in, walking in like she owned the place. She took charge immediately, barking orders to the staff. The whole house seemed to hold its breath.

The doctor brought by the governor's wife checked Jackson, then knelt on the ground, saying the previous treatments only masked the symptoms and the poison hadn't been cleared in time. Only strong medicine could be tried, but if it didn't work, Jackson might be bedridden for life.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I clung to the bedpost, fighting back tears.

Mrs. Quinn hurried in. "Ma'am, Caroline's personal nanny has confessed. She's one of the governor's people."

The room fell silent. I looked at Mrs. Quinn, my heart pounding, knowing that everything was about to change—for all of us.