Chapter 2 - The East StairwellThe sound of the alarm tore through the mansion like a warning from the dead.
Willa grabbed the dropped syringe before Whitfield could reach it. She moved fast, faster than he expected, and slipped it into the pocket of her sweater.
Whitfield’s face twisted.
“Give that to me.”
“No.”
“You stupid girl.”
He lunged.
Willa stepped back against Everett’s bed, one hand still wrapped around the syringe, the other pressed protectively against the blanket over Everett’s arm.
The monitor screamed with his racing pulse.
Everett’s eye had closed again, but the damage was done.
Whitfield had seen him.
Willa had seen him.
And now the lie had a crack.
The door burst open. Two security men entered first, followed by Mr. Crowley and Sterling Kane in a silk robe thrown over black pajamas. Sterling’s silver hair was neat despite the hour, but his eyes were hard with fury.
“What happened?” Sterling demanded.
Whitfield recovered quickly.
“Mrs. Kane interfered with treatment. Mr. Kane suffered a neurological response.”
Sterling looked at Willa.
The pleasant smile he wore in public was gone.
“What did you do?”
“I stopped him from injecting an undocumented drug.”
Whitfield laughed bitterly. “She is unstable.”
Willa pulled the syringe from her pocket and held it up.
“Then test this.”
The room went silent.
Sterling stared at the syringe as though it were a live snake.
Whitfield’s eyes flashed toward him.
There.
Willa saw it again.
A shared fear.
Sterling stepped forward. “That belongs to Dr. Whitfield.”
“It belonged to Everett’s IV port five seconds before the alarm started.”
Sterling’s voice lowered. “Hand it over.”
Willa looked at the two security men.
One was young and unfamiliar. The other stood near the door with his jaw clenched. He had the build of a former boxer and a scar cutting through his lower lip.
Willa remembered seeing him in the chapel.
He had not laughed.
She aimed her words at him.
“If Everett Kane dies tonight, everyone in this room becomes part of whatever killed him.”
The scarred guard’s eyes shifted to Everett.
Sterling noticed.
“Marco,” he snapped.
The guard looked back at Sterling, but he did not move.
Whitfield spoke quickly. “She has no authority here.”
Willa raised her left hand.
The plain gold wedding band on her finger caught the harsh light.
“I’m his wife.”
Sterling’s face tightened.
It was the first time that forced marriage had worked against him.
Crowley cleared his throat.
“Legally, Mrs. Kane does have standing in medical decision discussions.”
Sterling slowly turned to him. “Do you have something to say, Crowley?”
The house manager bowed his head.
“Only the obvious, sir.”
The alarm finally stopped.
The silence afterward felt worse.
Everett heard everything through the fog. His brief movement had cost him. He was sinking again, dragged downward by whatever poison still moved through his blood.
But before the darkness took him, he heard Willa say, “No more medication unless it is logged, witnessed, and verified by an outside physician.”
Sterling laughed once.
“You think you’re giving orders in my family’s house?”
Willa met his eyes.
“No,” she said. “I’m giving conditions in my husband’s sickroom.”
Sterling moved closer until they were only a few feet apart.
“You have no idea what kind of family you married into.”
Willa’s voice did not rise.
“I know exactly what kind. The kind that had to drag a homeless woman to the altar because no respectable person would stand beside what you’re doing.”
The young guard sucked in a breath.
Whitfield looked murderous.
Sterling smiled again, but this time it was thin and ugly.
“Remove her.”
Marco did not move.
The young guard hesitated.
Sterling turned. “I said remove her.”
Willa knew she had seconds.
She remembered Crowley’s words.
The east service stairwell has no cameras between one and two in the morning.
The clock on the wall read 1:37 a.m.
She backed toward the door, syringe hidden again in her palm.
“I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“No,” Sterling said.
That single word was too fast.
Too sharp.
Everyone heard it.
Willa smiled faintly.
“Thank you for confirming that.”
Then she ran.
The young guard reached for her, but Marco shifted just enough to block him. It looked accidental. It was not.
Willa flew down the hallway barefoot, the marble cold beneath her feet. Behind her, Sterling shouted. Doors opened. Staff members peered out and vanished.
She did not know the mansion’s layout well, but she had watched, listened, memorized. Crowley’s warning had not been random.
East stairwell.
No cameras.
Between one and two.
She turned left past a portrait of Everett’s grandfather, then right through a narrow servant corridor. Footsteps thundered behind her.
“Stop her!” Sterling shouted.
Willa reached the service door and yanked it open.
The stairwell beyond smelled of dust and old stone.
She plunged downward.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. The syringe felt slick in her hand. She could not let them take it. It was the first physical proof she had.
Second floor.
First floor.
Basement.
A door slammed above.
Willa kept running.
At the bottom, she found herself in a utility corridor lined with storage rooms. Pipes groaned overhead. The lights flickered.
She tried the first door.
Locked.
Second.
Locked.
Third.
Open.
She slipped inside and closed it just as footsteps reached the basement.
The room was small and smelled of cleaning supplies. Shelves crowded the walls. Willa crouched behind a stack of folded linens, pressing one hand over her mouth.
Two men passed outside.
Not Sterling. Not Whitfield.
Security.
“She came this way.”
“Check the laundry room.”
Their footsteps faded.
Willa waited.
Her knees shook. Her breath came too fast.
Then a hand covered her mouth from behind.
She tried to scream.
“Quiet,” a man whispered. “I’m not with them.”
Willa froze.
The hand slowly released her.
She turned.
Marco, the scarred guard, crouched behind her.
“How did you—”
“I know this house better than Sterling thinks.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Because Everett Kane saved my brother’s life ten years ago. And because Sterling has been cleaning loyal men out of this house since the accident.”
Willa swallowed.
“Everett opened his eye.”
“I saw.”
“Whitfield is drugging him.”
“I know.”
The answer hit her hard.
“You knew?”
“I suspected. Suspicion gets people killed here. Proof gives them a chance.”
Willa held up the syringe.
“Then we have proof.”
Marco looked at it.
“Not yet. Not unless it gets out of the house.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Voices.
Closer now.
Marco pulled a burner phone from his jacket and pressed it into Willa’s hand.
“There’s one number saved. Naomi Finch. Retired surgical nurse. Worked for Everett’s mother before she died. If anyone can tell you what that drug is and which doctor can be trusted, it’s her.”
Willa gripped the phone.
“What about Everett?”
Marco’s eyes hardened.
“You go. I stay near him.”
“I can’t leave him.”
“You can’t help him if Sterling locks you in a room or makes you disappear.”
Willa hated that he was right.
A key scraped in the corridor.
Marco moved to the door.
“There’s a laundry chute behind that shelf. It drops into the old linen room beside the garage. From there, take the delivery exit. Don’t use the front gate.”
Willa stared at him. “Why should I trust you?”
Marco paused.
Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photograph.
It showed Everett Kane years younger, standing beside a hospital bed. In the bed lay a teenage boy with Marco’s scarred eyes.
“My brother was shot by mistake during a warehouse dispute,” Marco said. “Everett paid for surgeons, rehab, everything. Then he fired the man responsible and handed him over to the police. People think he’s only a monster because monsters talk louder.”
Willa looked at the photo.
Then at the phone.
Then at the door.
“Tell Everett I’m coming back.”
Marco nodded.
“He’ll know.”
The lock turned.
Marco shoved the shelf aside.
Willa squeezed into the chute and slid into darkness just as the storage-room door opened.
She landed hard in a pile of old sheets two floors below.
Pain shot through her hip, but she did not stop.
She ran through the linen room, past the garage, and out into the frozen night.
Behind her, the Kane mansion blazed with light.
In her hand were a syringe, a burner phone, and the first chance Everett Kane had had in eight months.
Willa dialed the only saved number.
A woman answered on the second ring.
“Marco?”
“No,” Willa whispered, running toward the trees. “My name is Willa Kane. I think someone is poisoning my husband.”
May you like
There was a pause.
Then the woman said, “Finally.”
