Crowned In Revenge :The Diamond Boss

Chapter Six: The Drug in My Champagne

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Laughter rippled from every corner of the grand Deparker estate, filling the air with a false sense of warmth. But in the very heart of the celebration, Charmaine Deparker felt a chill crawl up her spine.

The champagne flute in her hand shimmered under the lights, delicate bubbles rising and bursting softly against the glass. She had just sipped it during Lily’s “loving” toast, and already, her throat burned faintly. It wasn’t sharp enough to draw attention—no, it was subtle, almost deceptive, like sweetness hiding a blade.

She blinked, her lashes fluttering as the edges of the room blurred for a fraction of a second. Her chest tightened. Something was wrong.

Across the hall, Rowan sat perched elegantly in her pale blue gown, a smile tugging her lips upward in just the right places. She appeared angelic to the crowd, but Charmaine caught the gleam in her half-sister’s eyes—a gleam of victory.

Charmaine straightened her back, ignoring the strange wave of dizziness that rushed through her veins. She would not falter here, not before these people. Not before her father, who already looked at her as if she were nothing but a stain on his name.

Douglas Deparker was seated at the high table, his stern face set like stone. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since the celebration began, not even a glance of pride on his daughter’s twentieth birthday. Instead, he nodded approvingly at Lily, his wife, who commanded the guests like a queen.

And Lily thrived in that power. Her crimson lips curved into a smile as she watched Charmaine, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing along the stem of her own champagne flute. It was a smile too satisfied, too intentional.

Charmaine forced another sip of the champagne, trying to chase away the bitter aftertaste with more sweetness. But the warmth that spread down her throat only worsened the unease in her stomach. Her fingers tightened around the glass until the glass nearly slipped from her hold.

Jayson Sanders appeared at her side almost instantly, his hand steadying hers as if he were the attentive fiancé everyone admired. His voice was smooth, low enough for only her to hear.

“Careful, Charmaine. Don’t let the nerves ruin your night.”

She looked up into his dark eyes, searching for comfort, but found none. His gaze was steady, affectionate on the surface, but too controlled, too nonchalant . It was the same gaze he had used to charm her father and win Douglas’s approval.

The room tilted ever so slightly, and Charmaine swayed. Jayson’s arm caught her waist firmly. To the watching crowd, it must have looked like a tender embrace. But to Charmaine, his grip felt like a dog chain tightening around her body.

“You’re pale,” Jayson murmured, his lips brushing her ear in a mock display of affection. “Maybe you should get some fresh air.”

The suggestion was reasonable, even caring, but Charmaine’s instincts screamed otherwise. Something about the way his fingers pressed into her side, the quick flicker of his eyes toward Rowan and Lily, made her hesitate.

Still, her legs trembled under her weight. She felt the ground slipping away, her body betraying her as the drug seeped deeper into her bloodstream.

The sound of clinking glasses and cheerful voices blurred into a dull roar in her ears. She could barely make out the music anymore. Instead, she heard the pounding of her own heartbeat, heavy and desperate.

“Charmaine,” Rowan’s voice chimed sweetly across the room, drawing curious glances from the guests. “Why don’t you show us your dance? It’s your night, after all.”

Her words dripped with innocence, but the smirk that followed told another story. Rowan wanted a spectacle—wanted to watch her stumble and collapse in front of them all.

Charmaine’s throat ached. She placed her flute down on the nearest table with a trembling hand, praying no one would notice the slight tremor in her fingers.

“I don’t feel well,” she said quietly, though her voice hardly carried beyond Jayson’s ear.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin. “Then let me take care of you.”

And without waiting for her agreement, he began guiding her away from the center of the room. His hand rested firmly at the small of her back, appearing protective to those who watched, but Charmaine felt like being led to the slaughter room.

Her vision swam, the faces around her merging into one indistinct blur. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. She knew something was terribly wrong.

They passed Rowan, who stood near the grand staircase. For the briefest moment, Rowan’s lips parted in a smile—cold, satisfied, cruel. Lily’s gaze met Rowan’s, and together, they shared an unspoken triumph.

Charmaine wanted to cry out, to scream that she had been poisoned, but her tongue felt heavy. Her body betrayed her, sinking deeper into weakness with every step.

The corridors outside the banquet hall stretched long and dimly lit. Jayson walked her steadily, his expression perfectly neutral, as though he were nothing but a devoted fiancé tending to his beloved.

But when the doors closed behind them, sealing them off from the guests, his hand on her back tightened just enough to sting.

“J-Jayson…” her voice cracked, nearly swallowed by her dry throat.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple in an act that seemed tender, but his words were laced with cruelty.

“You should stop fighting, Charmaine. It’ll be easier that way.”

Her heart plummeted. She stumbled, nearly falling, but he caught her again with practiced ease.

“What… what did you do?” she whispered, her head spinning too fast to keep balance.

His smile was faint, but it was there. “Not me.” His gaze flicked back toward the hall. “But you’ve always been naïve enough to drink anything handed to you.”

The walls seemed to close in around her, shadows stretching across the floor like claws. She wanted to fight, to push him away, but her body no longer obeyed.

Jayson adjusted his grip and began steering her toward the guest wing of the mansion. Each step echoed like a countdown.

Charmaine’s mind screamed. Her legs dragged. Her chest tightened with panic. She knew—whatever was waiting for her at the end of this hall was not peaceful.

Through the haze, she caught a figure at the far end of the corridor. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence cold and immovable like carved marble. He lingered near the shadows, his face half hidden under the dim golden lights.

Charmaine’s vision blurred again, but for a fleeting instant, her gaze locked with his. Dark almond eyes, sharp and piercing, cut through her fog like lightning. A shiver rushed down her spine.

She didn’t know his name yet. She didn’t know he would change everything.

But Damien Bailey had seen enough.

And fate had just pulled the strings tighter.

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