Chapter 3 - POISONED WHISPERS
Night had fallen over the estate,
casting long,
monstrous shadows across the marble floors.
The only light in Ethan’s room was the soft,
blue glow of the medical monitors.
I sat in the chair beside his bed,
watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
He was awake,
his eyes following the movement of the curtains in the breeze.
When I shifted in my seat,
his gaze snapped to me,
intense and unblinking.
“I'm still here,”
I whispered,
unsure of what else to say.
I saw his throat move,
as if he were trying to swallow a mountain.
He wanted to speak,
I could see the frustration burning in his eyes.
I reached out and gently took his hand,
the one that could move.
“Blink once for yes,”
I said,
my heart racing.
“Blink twice for no.”
“Do you know who I am?”
He blinked once.
A single,
slow movement of his lashes.
“Did you hear what I said earlier?”
“About the marriage?”
He blinked once.
I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck.
He knew.
He knew he had been bought and I had been sold.
“I'm sorry,”
I whispered,
looking down at our joined hands.
“I didn't have a choice.”
He squeezed my hand,
a tiny,
feeble pressure that felt like a shout in the dark.
I looked up,
startled,
and saw a flicker of something that looked like understanding.
Suddenly,
the monitor gave a sharp,
alarmed beep.
Ethan’s eyes widened,
and his breathing became shallow and fast.
I looked at the IV bag hanging beside the bed.
The liquid inside looked different,
cloudier than it had been an hour ago.
Panic flared in my chest.
I jumped up and pressed the call button,
but no one came.
The hallway outside was eerily silent.
I looked at the IV line and saw a small,
clear tube that hadn't been there before.
Someone was tampering with his medicine.
I didn't think,
I just acted.
I grabbed the plastic tubing and kinked it shut,
stopping the flow of the cloudy liquid.
Ethan’s eyes were filled with terror,
his hand gripping mine with surprising strength.
“It’s okay,”
I hissed,
my eyes darting to the door.
“I won't let them.”
I reached for the IV bag and tore it down,
the plastic ripping with a loud crack.
Just then,
the nurse who had been on duty walked in,
her face a mask of feigned surprise.
“What are you doing?”
she gasped,
moving toward the bed.
“Get away from him!”
I screamed,
standing between her and Ethan.
“What was in that bag?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,”
she stammered,
her eyes darting toward the discarded plastic.
“I'm calling Vivian,”
I said,
reaching for the phone.
The nurse turned and fled the room,
her footsteps echoing down the hall.
I turned back to Ethan,
who was gasping for air,
his face pale.
“You’re safe,”
I whispered,
though I knew it was a lie.
In this house,
the coma hadn't been an accident.
May you like
It was a prison,
and someone was trying to make sure he never left it.
