When My Close Friend Poisoned My Step-Son’s Corgi to Destroy My $5 Million Engagement, My Hidden Avian Camera Tech Revealed the Truth—Leading Me to a Heartbreaking Romantic Discovery
Waffles was resting, sedated but stable, at the local veterinary clinic. I insisted on staying until the initial toxicology report came back. The clinic was sterile, smelling faintly of antiseptic and damp fur, a stark contrast to the opulence of Mark’s villa.
“The preliminary report is in, Ms. Gable,” Dr. Patel said, handing me a printout. His brow was furrowed with concern. “It confirms theobromine toxicity.”
My stomach tightened. “How much, and when?”
He pointed to a section of the report. “A significant dose. What’s critical is the timeline of absorption.”
I scanned the medical jargon, my training as an avian ethologist kicking in. I might specialize in birds, but biochemistry was biochemistry.
“The peak concentration,” Dr. Patel explained, tapping the paper, “indicates ingestion roughly two to three hours before Waffles presented symptoms.”
My breath hitched. My internal clock was precise. I had arrived at the villa estate only an hour before Waffles collapsed.
“Are you certain?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Forensically certain,” he affirmed, his voice gentle. “The synthetic nature of the compound and its metabolic markers leave little doubt. It wasn’t a natural exposure.”
This meant Waffles had ingested the poison long before I had even set foot on the property. Gemma’s entire timeline of accusation, her theatrical performance, was a lie. My presence had been precisely timed to coincide with Waffles’ collapse, making me the most obvious scapeail.
I clenched the report in my hand, the paper crinkling softly. This was more than vindication. This was an undeniable shift in the truth.
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said, standing up. My mind was already racing, connecting dots. “You’ve given me everything I need.”
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