Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Corridor
The clock on the mahogany nightstand in the guest suite read 3:14 AM.
Sleep was entirely out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those stormy gray eyes locking onto mine, heard that raspy, chilling warning echoing in my ears: Don't trust Jason.
Why Jason? What did my new brother-in-law have to do with Ethan’s mysterious coma?
The official medical reports handed down by the corporate board claimed Ethan’s accident was a tragic horseback riding mishap at the family estate in Virginia. A sudden fall, a severe concussion, and a slow slide into an irreversible vegetative state.
Tragic. That was the word everyone used. But nothing about the Thornton family felt tragic; everything felt calculated.
I slipped out of bed, wrapping a silk robe over my cotton pajamas. The mansion at night was a labyrinth of deep shadows and chilling drafts. The moonlight cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, skeletal patterns across the Persian rugs.
My destination was Ethan’s room at the end of the east wing.
If he woke up once, he could wake up again. I needed answers, and I needed to know if he was safe.
As I crept down the corridor, keeping close to the wood-paneled walls to avoid the creaky floorboards, a faint sliver of light caught my eye. It wasn't coming from Ethan’s room. It was coming from the second-floor study—Jason’s private domain.
I inched closer, holding my breath. The heavy oak door was ajar by an inch.
"...what do you mean he showed signs?" a hushed, furious voice hissed from inside. It was Jason. He was on the phone. "I don't care what the nurse says. The dosage should have kept him under for another forty-eight hours minimum!"
A cold sweat broke out across my spine.
Dosage?
Jason wasn't just waiting for Ethan to die or stay asleep. Someone was actively keeping him down.
"Fix it," Jason snarled into the phone. "If he wakes up and starts talking, everything we’ve built over the last nine months goes up in smoke. My grandfather's entire empire, the trust fund, the offshore accounts—all of it goes to him. Do whatever it takes to ensure he stays quiet permanently."
He slammed the phone down.
I leaped backward, pressing myself flat against the wallpapered hallway just as the study door clicked open. Jason stepped out into the corridor, looking like a predator looking for blood.
He glanced left and right, his eyes narrowing. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to look right at me. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years.
Footsteps receded toward the west wing.
When I finally dared to open my eyes and exhale, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. I didn't head back to my room. I sprinted toward the east wing, fueled by sheer panic.
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I reached Ethan’s door, threw it open, and rushed inside—only to freeze in absolute horror.
Nurse Evelyn was standing over Ethan’s bed, her hands gloved, pressing a heavy syringe directly into the IV port attached to his arm.
