The silver tray rattled slightly in Nina’s hands as she walked down the grand marble hallway of the Romano estate. It was barely 7:00 AM, but the house felt darker than it had at midnight. Sunlight struggled to breach the thick mahogany drapes, casting long, bruised shadows across the Persian rugs.

In the master suite, Alexander was awake. He sat propped against a tower of white pillows, his skin pale, the dark circles under his eyes like ink smudges. Yet, the fever was gone. His pulse had stabilized at a cool 72 beats per minute.

Standing beside his bed was Dr. Castellano. The physician was meticulously packing his leather medical kit, his hands steady, his face an unreadable mask of professional concern. Standing in the corner, nursing a cup of black coffee, was Marcus Hale.

"It’s a miracle, Alexander," Castellano said smooth as silk, snapping the gold clasps of his bag shut. "The fever broken, the cardiac distress resolved. Your heart is remarkably resilient."

Nina stepped into the room, keeping her gaze pinned strictly to the floor. She placed the tray containing Alexander's morning tea on the bedside table.

"You look exhausted, Nina," Marcus said from the corner, his voice carrying that familiar, quiet weight. His gray eyes tracked her every movement. "Did you sleep at all after I left?"

"No, Mr. Hale," Nina replied smoothly, her heart slamming against her ribs. "I stayed by his side. Just as you ordered."

Alexander turned his head slowly. His dark eyes—sharp, calculating, and suddenly terrifyingly clear—fixed upon Nina. He had been close to death just hours ago, yet the sheer authority radiating from him had returned full force.

"Nina," Alexander spoke, his voice raspy from fever and disuse.

"Yes, Mr. Romano?"

"You didn't leave this room last night?"

Nina’s breath hitched. In her pocket, the small plastic aspirin bottle containing the lethal three-milligram pills felt heavier than lead. If Marcus searched her, or if Castellano noticed the swapped pills before she could dispose of them, she would be dead by noon.

"Only once, sir," Nina said, forcing her voice into a tone of simple, unbothered humility. "To fetch fresh water and towel linens from the kitchen."

Castellano paused, his hand lingering over his leather bag. He cast a sharp, sideways glance at Nina, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you touch any of the medications on the dresser, child? I left very precise instructions."

"I gave him the exact pills from the bottle labeled for 3:45 AM, Doctor," Nina said, looking Castellano straight in the eye. "Just as you wrote on the label."

A thick, stifling silence fell over the bedroom. Marcus took a slow sip of his coffee. Castellano’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

"Good," Alexander whispered, his gaze never leaving Nina’s face. He reached out, his long fingers brushing against the edge of her apron where the hidden bottle rested. "Loyal to the end. Marcus, pay her double for this week."

"Already done, boss," Marcus replied.

As Nina turned to leave, her pocket brushed against the wooden bedpost. A faint, telltale rattle of plastic and pills echoed in the quiet room.