Chapter 10 - Midnight Perfume
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The ICU after midnight is a kingdom of machines. It hums, it blinks, and it breathes through plastic tubes and darkened, glowing screens. Outside my private room, the night-shift nurses moved in soft, rubber-soled shoes. Somewhere down the long corridor, another patient coughed weakly.
I had been counting the seconds between the monitor beeps to keep myself from drowning in the sheer agony of my broken bones when I heard it.
The door handle depressed with a soft, metallic click.
It was not a nurse. Nurses move with purpose; they bustle, they check charts, they announce themselves. This movement was slower. Deliberate. Stealthy. Following the click of the latch was the sharp, unmistakable rhythm of designer heels against the linoleum floor.
Then came the scent.
The perfume drifted into the room before she even stepped fully into the light. It was thick, floral, and aggressively expensive. It was the exact same perfume she had worn to my wedding. The scent was cruel enough to feel like a physical warning, wrapping around my throat before she even touched me.
Cordelia Voss stepped into view.
She was dressed for a funeral, or an execution. She wore a pristine cream cashmere coat over a tailored black dress. Pearls rested at her throat, and diamonds glittered at her wrist. Her face carried a look of faint disgust that she didn't even bother attempting to hide.
She carefully closed the heavy wooden door behind her. She stood perfectly still for a long moment, listening to the hallway. Satisfied, she turned her cold eyes toward the bed.
May you like
The heart monitor kept its steady, rhythmic pace. I forced my breathing to remain utterly mechanical. My eyes stayed half-open, fixed blindly on the ceiling tiles, vacant as glass.
“You really are a stubborn little thing,” she whispered into the gloom.
