Chapter 3 - WHISPERED POISON
The air in the room turned instantly frigid. Julian took two slow, deliberate steps toward me, his hands resting casually inside the pockets of his tailored charcoal trousers, but the threat radiating from him was palpable.
"I was documenting the medication count for the household inventory, Mr. Julian," I replied smoothly, not allowing a single tremor to enter my voice. I locked my phone with my thumb and slid it into my apron pocket in one seamless motion. "Mr. Mercer requires a daily log of all consumables on the executive floor."
Julian’s eyes narrowed into twin slits of appraisal. "Does he now? Landon is becoming remarkably pedantic in his old age." He reached out, his manicured fingers closing over the amber bottle, scooping up the rogue capsules from the table. "You shouldn't handle Gabriel’s private prescriptions, Maya. You might drop something valuable."
"I’ll remember that, sir," I said, picking up my cleaning tray and taking a calculated step backward toward the main hall.
"Maya," Julian’s voice cut through the silence like a scalpel just as my hand touched the brass door handle.
I paused, looking over my shoulder. "Yes, Mr. Julian?"
"Curiosity has a very short life expectancy in this house," he said, smiling pleasantly while swirling the pills in the plastic container. "Make sure you stick to dusting."
I gave a curt nod and slipped out into the corridor, my back instantly breaking out in cold sweat.
Instead of retreating to the basement laundry, I waited around the arched colonnade until Julian descended the grand staircase and exited toward the motor court, his black Bentley purring away down the private driveway.
The moment he was gone, I turned on my heel, marched straight back into Gabriel’s master suite, and locked the heavy double doors behind me.
Gabriel was stirring. He let out a low, ragged groan, his knuckles clenching the duvet as he fought his way out of the chemical fog. His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and disoriented, fixing upon me as I stood beside his bed.
"You're... still here," he rasped, his voice raw. "Get me... the water."
"I'm not giving you the water," I said firmly, crossing my arms. "And if you have any desire to ever walk again, you will never swallow another capsule from that nightstand."
Gabriel blinked, his brow furrowing in irritation and lingering stupor. "Have you lost your mind, girl? Give me my medication."
"Look at this," I commanded, pulling out my phone, unlocking the screen, and holding the magnified photograph of the counterfeit pill six inches from his face.
Gabriel squinted, his sharp intellect instantly piercing through the residual haze. He stared at the glowing screen, his eyes tracking the micro-imprint 'N' inside the hexagon.
"What is this?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register.
"That is N-Desmethyl," I explained, kneeling down so I was at eye level with him. "My mother spent twenty years working in high-end pharmaceutical compounding. This is an unlicensed central nervous system inhibitor. It mimics progressive motor-neuron degeneration. It doesn't relieve your back spasms, Mr. Cross. It is actively paralyzing you from the waist down, ensuring your damaged nerves can never reconnect."
Gabriel’s breathing stopped completely. His jaw clenched so hard I could hear the enamel grind. A terrifying, volcanic fury ignited behind his gray eyes—the cold, merciless rage of a predator who suddenly realizes he has been caged by jackals.
"Where did you get this?" he whispered.
"From that bottle right there," I pointed to the tray. "The ones Dr. Byrne hand-delivered yesterday. And five minutes ago, your cousin Julian caught me looking at it."
Before Gabriel could speak, the heavy brass door handle rattled violently from the hallway outside, followed by three sharp, authoritative knocks.
May you like
"Gabriel!" Landon’s panicked voice came through the heavy wood. "Open the door! Julian just called an emergency board meeting for noon—he claims he has medical proof that you are permanently incapacitated!"
***
