Chapter 83: Eye drops
Meanwhile, across town, the heavy oak door of a private meeting room inside a high-end club slammed shut.
Kian shoved a chair out of his way, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. His face was dark, his tie pulled loose, his breathing harsh and ragged.
"What the hell was that back there?" Kian snapped, turning around to face Arthur Pendleton. "You let that kid corner us about undue influence!"
Arthur stood near the small bar, calmly pouring himself a glass of water. He didn’t look angry, but his eyes were unusually cold as he looked at Kian.
"The kid didn’t corner us, Kian," Arthur said, his voice flat and razor-sharp. "You did. By keeping things from me."
Kian paused, his jaw working. "What are you talking about?"
Arthur set the glass down on the counter with a hard ’clink’. "The eye drops."
The room went dead quiet.
Kian’s face lost a shade of color, but he hardened his posture. "She had a prescription. That’s all."
Arthur took a slow step toward him, his grandfatherly warmth completely gone. "Do not lie to me, Kian. I have been practicing law for forty years. I know what guilt looks like, and I saw your face when their lawyer brought up those laboratory results."
Arthur leaned over the table, staring right into Kian’s eyes. "You knew she had those drops?"
"I knew she used them," Kian muttered, looking away.
"Did you know she took them with her when she left?"
Silence.
"You didn’t," Arthur realized, letting out a heavy breath. "You left evidence in her hands, and you didn’t think to tell your defense team."
"I didn’t think they’d test them!" Kian suddenly shouted, slamming his fist onto the dark wood table. "Who tests a goddamn bottle of eye drops?! She’s blind! She used them every day! Why would anyone think to send a medical prescription to a lab?!"
"Because Aaron Kazarov is standing behind her," Arthur said coldly. "And he doesn’t miss anything."
Kian gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He pulled at his collar, pacing back and forth across the rug like a trapped animal.
The thought of those results reaching the judge, reaching ’Isabella’, made a sickening panic twist in his gut.
If she found out... if she truly understood what those drops were doing to her eyes... she would never look at him again. She would hate him forever.
"We have to stop it," Kian said, his voice dropping into a desperate, raspy whisper. "Arthur, we have to stop those results from getting to the court."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Kian, if those results exist, trying to destroy them is a criminal offense."
"I don’t give a damn!" Kian snapped, stepping close to the older lawyer. "If those results are read in court, this divorce is the least of my problems! You need to find out where they sent those drops and make sure the report never reaches Niko or the judge."
Arthur stared at him for a long, heavy moment. He saw the sheer panic in Kian’s eyes, the actions of a man who was rapidly losing control of everything he owned.
Arthur let out a slow breath. "They mentioned a lab in New Jersey during the hearing. But Kazarov isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t leave a key piece of evidence somewhere obvious without protection."
"I don’t care how hard it is," Kian said, his voice trembling with dark rage. "Use your contacts. Use whoever you need to. Get someone inside that chain, intercept the report, or buy off the director. Just do it."
Arthur hesitated, weighing the heavy risks in his mind. But he was too deep into the Carter family’s business to pull back now.
"I have a contact," Arthur said slowly, his voice low. "Someone who works in medical logistics compliance. They can track the filing route of court-ordered lab results."
"Then do it today," Kian ordered, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. "Don’t let that paper reach her."
...
An hour later, the black SUV pulled up to a grand, iron-gated house nestled in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood far away from the city center. It wasn’t the massive, cold estate Aaron owned in Russia, but a warm, private home with soft yellow lights glowing in the windows and a large garden in the back.
Aaron carried Isabella inside himself, refusing to let her walk up the front steps while she was still feeling dizzy.
He carried her up the wide staircase and laid her down gently on the massive king-sized bed in the main bedroom. The sheets were soft, smelling faintly of clean linen.
Aaron turned to the housekeeper standing near the door. "No visitors. Cancel any meetings I had scheduled for the rest of the evening."
"Yes, Mr. Kazarov," the woman nodded, quickly stepping out to prepare the kitchen.
Isabella lay back against the soft pillows, hearing his orders. "Aaron... you don’t have to cancel your entire life because my stomach felt funny."
Aaron sat down on the edge of the mattress, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it over a chair. He began unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves.
"I’m not canceling my life," Aaron said calmly.
"You are clearly canceling things. I heard you."
"I’m delegating," he corrected, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
"That’s the exact same thing."
"No," Aaron said, reaching out to gently pinch her nose. "Delegating is what rich people call canceling things when they want to feel productive."
Isabella couldn’t help it. A soft, clear laugh bubbled out of her throat, bright and warm in the quiet bedroom. She reached up, her hands finding his forearm, feeling the firm muscle beneath his rolled-up sleeve.
"You are terrible," she whispered, her eyes softening as she looked toward the sound of his voice.
"I am comfortable," Aaron corrected softly. He shifted closer, leaning down until his lips hovered just an inch above hers. "And right now, my only job is making sure you rest."