Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO WASN’T SUPPOSED TO WAKE
For several seconds, Madeline forgot how to breathe.
Christopher Harrington’s eyes remained open.
They were gray.
That was the first absurd detail her mind registered.
Gray eyes.
Not lifeless.
Not unfocused.
Not the vacant stare she had expected from someone who had supposedly spent nine months trapped somewhere beyond consciousness.
They were weak, confused, and heavy with exhaustion.
But they were watching her.
“Christopher?”
His throat moved.
Madeline immediately reached toward the call button mounted beside the bed.
His fingers jerked.
“No.”
The word was barely more than air.
She froze.
“You need a doctor.”
“No.”
“You’ve been unconscious for nine months.”
His gaze shifted toward the bedroom door.
The fear in his face stopped her.
Not panic.
Christopher Harrington did not look like a frightened man.
He looked like a man who understood exactly why waking up could get him killed.
Madeline slowly lowered her hand.
“What did you mean about Bradley?”
Christopher closed his eyes.
For one horrifying second she thought he had slipped away again.
Then his lips moved.
“Listening.”
Madeline stared at him.
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
Her skin prickled.
Christopher appeared to gather strength before whispering, “Pretend.”
“Pretend what?”
“Still... asleep.”
Footsteps sounded outside the room.
Christopher’s eyes snapped toward the door.
And then something extraordinary happened.
His entire face emptied.
His eyelids fell shut.
His hand became still.
His breathing returned to the same slow rhythm she had witnessed when she entered.
By the time the door opened, Christopher Harrington looked exactly as he had twenty minutes earlier.
Completely unconscious.
Bradley stepped inside.
Madeline’s heart nearly punched through her ribs.
He was holding two champagne glasses.
“Well,” he said pleasantly. “There you are.”
Madeline forced herself not to look at Christopher.
Bradley kicked the door closed behind him.
“I figured the newlywed deserved a drink.”
“I’m tired.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
He crossed the room.
Madeline remained beside the bed.
Bradley handed her one glass.
She accepted it without drinking.
His gaze drifted toward Christopher.
“Romantic, isn’t he?”
Something about his voice made Madeline’s stomach twist.
“He’s sick.”
“He’s gone.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
Bradley smiled.
“For practical purposes, they are.”
Madeline tightened her fingers around the champagne flute.
“You sound disappointed the marriage happened.”
“Actually, I’m fascinated.”
“Why?”
“Because my grandmother found someone willing to marry a vegetable.”
Madeline’s jaw tightened.
“Call him that again and I’ll throw this drink in your face.”
Bradley stared at her.
Then laughed.
“I think you might actually survive around here.”
His attention shifted toward the monitors.
“Of course, surviving and belonging are different things.”
He stepped closer.
Far too close.
“What exactly did Abigail promise you?”
“Nothing.”
“Please.”
“My father’s debts were handled.”
“There it is.”
Bradley’s smile sharpened.
“Everyone has a price.”
Madeline thought about Christopher’s whispered warning.
Don’t trust Bradley.
“Apparently yours is the company.”
For the first time, Bradley’s expression changed.
Barely.
But she saw it.
Then his smile returned.
“Christopher and I grew up together. I’m concerned about the company because someone has to be.”
“He’s still alive.”
“For now.”
The words came too easily.
Madeline stared at him.
Bradley took a drink.
“Medical fact, Mrs. Harrington. Don’t make it dramatic.”
A knock sounded.
The private nurse entered.
Her name was Evelyn Price, a woman in her late forties with tired brown eyes and silver beginning at her temples.
“Mr. Harrington needs his medication.”
Bradley checked his watch.
“Right on schedule.”
Evelyn moved toward the IV line.
Madeline watched her remove a small glass vial from the medication cart.
“What is that?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Anti-seizure medication.”
“Does he have seizures?”
“Neurological patients can develop complications.”
Bradley sighed.
“Madeline, please don’t become one of those relatives who reads three medical articles online and terrorizes the nurses.”
Evelyn inserted a syringe into the IV port.
Christopher remained perfectly motionless.
But Madeline saw something Bradley did not.
His left thumb moved beneath the sheet.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Stop.
She knew it instinctively.
Christopher was trying to tell her something.
“Wait.”
Evelyn looked up.
Madeline deliberately knocked the medication tray sideways.
Metal instruments crashed across the floor.
The syringe dropped from Evelyn’s hand.
Bradley jumped back.
“What the hell?”
“Oh my God,” Madeline said. “I’m sorry.”
Evelyn immediately bent down.
Madeline did too.
She grabbed the syringe before the nurse could reach it.
“I’ll throw this away.”
Evelyn’s face went strangely pale.
“No.”
Madeline paused.
“I’ll handle it.”
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Fear.
Not irritation.
Fear.
Madeline released the syringe.
Bradley watched silently.
Evelyn stood, discarded it in the sharps container, and prepared another dose.
This time Madeline looked at Christopher’s hand.
No movement.
Evelyn administered the medication.
Within minutes, Christopher’s breathing seemed heavier.
Bradley finally left.
Evelyn followed.
Madeline locked the door.
She waited.
One minute.
Five.
Ten.
“Christopher?”
Nothing.
“Christopher?”
Her fear grew.
She sat beside him.
Twenty minutes passed before his eyes finally opened.
They were far more sluggish now.
“That medicine,” Madeline whispered. “Was that what you were warning me about?”
Christopher blinked once.
“Yes.
“Is Evelyn hurting you?”
His expression tightened.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He struggled to form the words.
“Orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“Doctor.”
“What doctor?”
“Lowell.”
Madeline remembered the name from the framed medical credentials in the hall.
Dr. Marcus Lowell.
Christopher’s neurologist.
“How long have you been able to hear people?”
Christopher stared at the ceiling.
“Months.”
The answer devastated her.
“You were conscious?”
“Sometimes.”
“But you couldn’t move?”
His eyes filled with a kind of rage Madeline had never seen before.
“No.”
She suddenly understood what nine months of that would mean.
Hearing conversations.
Feeling hands touching you.
Knowing people had written off your mind while your body refused to obey.
“Did someone cause your coma?”
Christopher closed his eyes.
Madeline waited.
Finally he whispered.
“My accident.”
“What happened?”
“Brake line.”
Her blood chilled.
“The news said you lost control in the rain.”
“I didn’t.”
“Someone tampered with your car?”
“Yes.”
“Bradley?”
Christopher’s lips pressed together.
“Can’t prove.”
“But you suspect him.”
His eyes shifted toward her.
“The company.”
Madeline leaned closer.
“What about the company?”
Christopher swallowed painfully.
“Thirty days.”
“Until what?”
“Board vote.”
She remembered her father explaining part of the trust.
Christopher’s thirtieth birthday.
The marriage.
The voting shares.
But she had never understood the full details.
Christopher fought for each word.
“If incompetent... Bradley becomes... acting chairman.”
Madeline stared at him.
“So your marriage protects your shares?”
Christopher gave the smallest nod.
“For now.”
“For now?”
“Spouse.”
“What about the spouse?”
“You.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Never sign anything.”
Madeline felt something cold move through her.
“Why?”
“Your signature... can transfer proxy.”
Suddenly Bradley’s friendliness made sense.
The champagne.
The questions.
The curiosity about Abigail’s promises.
Madeline looked toward the door.
“What exactly did I marry into?”
Christopher almost smiled.
It was exhausted and bitter.
“A war.”
Before she could answer, a soft click came from the hallway.
The doorknob turned.
Madeline shot to her feet.
She had locked it.
Someone tried again.
Then came a knock.
“Mrs. Harrington?”
Dr. Lowell.
Christopher’s eyes widened.
He immediately went still.
Madeline unlocked the door.
The neurologist stepped inside carrying a leather medical bag.
He was handsome in the polished way men on pharmaceutical advertisements were handsome, with dark blond hair and rimless glasses.
“Checking on our patient.”
“At midnight?”
“Christopher’s condition requires unusual hours.”
He walked toward the bed.
Madeline stayed beside him.
Dr. Lowell checked Christopher’s pupils.
His pulse.
His IV.
Then he looked at the medication chart.
His eyebrows drew together.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“His heart rate increased earlier.”
Madeline said nothing.
Lowell glanced toward her.
“Were you speaking to him?”
“I suppose.”
“What about?”
“Nothing important.”
Dr. Lowell studied her too long.
“Some families find comfort talking to coma patients.”
“Does it hurt them?”
“Usually not.”
Usually.
He reached into his medical bag.
Madeline saw another vial.
“What is that?”
“A sedative.”
“He’s already unconscious.”
“Patients in Christopher’s neurological state can experience involuntary agitation.”
“He hasn’t moved.”
Lowell smiled without warmth.
“You’ve known him for less than a day.”
He inserted the syringe.
Christopher’s fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
Madeline stepped forward.
“I don’t want you giving him that.”
Lowell slowly turned.
“You don’t?”
“I’m his wife.”
“You are not his physician.”
“No. But I’m telling you to stop.”
Silence thickened the room.
Then Lowell withdrew the needle.
“Of course.”
He placed the syringe back into his bag.
“As you wish.”
He left ten minutes later.
Madeline waited until his footsteps disappeared.
Then she bent over Christopher.
His eyes opened.
“Was I right?”
Christopher whispered one word.
“Yes.”
“What was in that syringe?”
His answer came so quietly she almost missed it.
“The reason... I never woke up.”
Madeline stared at him.
Then Christopher caught her wrist with strength he had not possessed an hour earlier.
“Madeline.”
It was the first time he had said her name.
She leaned closer.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
Christopher’s gaze moved toward the closed door.
“My crash wasn’t Bradley’s first attempt.”
Madeline stopped breathing.
Christopher swallowed.
“Someone inside this house tried to kill me before.”
May you like
And from somewhere in the dark hallway outside, a floorboard creaked.
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