Chapter Eight

*Avina*

The sun crawled across the floor of my bedroom like a silent intruder. I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, trying to piece together the fragments of the last twelve hours.

My body felt heavy, but it wasn't the sickly weight of the Cellular Degeneration Syndrome. It was a different kind of ache. My skin felt sensitive, hummed with a residual heat that didn't belong to me. It belonged to Ronan Graves.

I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My hair was a mess, my lips were slightly swollen, and when I tilted my head, I saw them. Two dark, bruised marks on the curve of my neck. Hickeys.

I shivered, a slow, delicious heat curling through my veins at the memory of him pounding into me with reckless abandon, his skin feeling like steel beneath warm silk.

Whoever said older men had no stamina certainly was lying. That man had no problem going again and again, as if sleep were optional and restraint a foreign concept.

My body told on him before my mind could catch up. The dull ache in my thighs. The warm pull low in my stomach. Even breathing felt different, slower, like I was still trying to recover from being handled for hours.

I stared at the marks on my neck and shook my head.

Last night, I had walked into the lion’s den to find a weapon. I had found Ronan. Believe it or not but I'd never intended on sleeping with him. But then again, my plans often had a weird way of turning up on me.

Not that I was complaining tho. The sex was great enough and nothing remarkable enough.

Maybe if I kept telling myself that, then I would somehow start believing it.

Anyways, first, I had to deal with the fire I’d started at home.

I showered quickly, the hot water stinging the marks on my neck. I dressed in a high-collared, long-sleeved silk blouse, buttoning it to the very top. I let my hair down, brushing it forward to shroud my face. I had to look like the grieving, anxious wife. I had to look like the victim everyone expected me to be.

I stepped out into the hallway. The house felt wrong. Usually, the Graves estate was a well-oiled machine of quiet efficiency. Today, the air was thick and stagnant. The maids moved in silence, their eyes downcast, their movements jerky. There was a gloom hanging over the rafters, a sense of impending doom that usually followed the master of the house.

I descended the stairs, my heart thudding against my ribs. I needed to know what had happened after I fled. Did he survive? Of course, he did. A histamine reaction wouldn't kill a man like Xavier Graves…not yet. But the uncertainty was a jagged blade in my gut. I couldn't exactly walk up to the butler and ask, ‘So, how’s the husband I poisoned doing today?’

I was wandering toward the breakfast nook, trying to look aimless, when a shadow blocked the light from the hallway.

“Mrs. Graves.”

I froze. I slowly turned to find Mrs. Gable standing there. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her mouth was set in a thin, hard line. She looked at me with a mix of shock and something that felt uncomfortably like accusation.

“Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice soft and tentative. “You’re up early.”

“Up?" she snapped, stepping closer. “I haven't been to bed. I just returned from the hospital. Why are you here, Avina? They told me you were hospitalized.”

My pulse skyrocketed. Hospitalized? “I—” I started, but my mind was a blank slate of panic. I hadn't prepared for this lie. “I’m not… I mean…”

Mrs. Gable’s eyes narrowed. She took another step, her gaze raking over me. She wasn't looking at my face. She was looking at my neck. In my nervousness, I had reached up to touch my throat, and the silk collar had shifted.

“What is that?” she whispered, her voice sharp as a razor.

I gasped and yanked my hand away, pulling the collar up so high it brushed my chin. I swung my hair forward, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst through my chest.

“It’s nothing,” I stammered. “A… a rash. Stress. You know how my skin gets.”

“A rash?” Mrs. Gable sneered. She moved to grab my arm, but I stepped back, my eyes wide. “You weren't at the hospital. You weren't by your husband's side when he collapsed, gasping for his life. They told me that you were taken to an ER downtown after a breakdown. But you look… well-rested. And that 'rash' looks remarkably like a thumbprint.”

“Mrs. Gable, you’re overstepping,” I said, trying to summon the authority of the mistress of the house, but my voice wavered.

“Am I? Xavier is fighting for his breath, and his wife is missing all night, only to show up with marks on her neck? Where were you, Avina? Who were you with?”

The walls felt like they were closing in. I had overplayed my hand. I had thought I was being clever, but I had left a gaping hole in my alibi. If Mrs. Gable told Xavier—or worse, the police—that I wasn't in a hospital last night, the whole tower of cards would fall.

“She was exactly where the doctors said she was, Mrs. Gable.”

The voice came from behind me. It was calm, steady, and carried a weight of certainty that made Mrs. Gable jump.

I turned to see Maria walking toward us. She was dressed in her crisp cooking attire, carrying a small silver tray. On the tray sat my smartphone—the one Maria had snatched from my hand last night.

“Maria?” Mrs. Gable hissed. ”What are you talking about?”

Maria didn't look at the housekeeper. She walked straight to me and held out the tray. “Ma'am, a messenger from the private clinic just delivered this. You left it in your room when they discharged you this morning. They said you were still quite groggy from the sedatives and they didn't want you leaving without it.”

I looked at Maria. Her eyes were fixed on mine. There was a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Play along.

I swallowed hard, reaching out with a trembling hand to take the phone. “Oh… thank you, Maria. My head… it’s still so fuzzy. I don't even remember leaving the clinic.”

Maria turned to Mrs. Gable, her expression one of polite professional concern. “The doctors were very worried, Mrs. Gable. Mrs. Graves was overwhelmed, anxious, and unwell yesterday especially because of the scandal. She left the house late last night to clear her head and suffered a panic attack / fainting episode but luckily a passerby found her and took her to a private clinic. It’s all in the records.”

Mrs. Gable looked between us, the suspicion in her eyes flickering but not dying. "A private clinic? Which one?"

"The Wellness Center on 4th," Maria said without missing a beat. "The messenger also mentioned that Mrs. Graves shouldn't forget to drop by for her follow-up test later today. The shock of the master’s illness combined with her own… delicate state… it would be nearly too much."

Mrs. Gable huffed, crossing her arms. "Well. It seems everyone is falling apart. If you’re so 'recovered,' Avina, I suggest you change and get to the Graves Hospital immediately. Your father is already there. Xavier is conscious, but he’s asking for you. Or at least, he’s asking why his wife wasn't there to hold his hand."

"I’ll get ready now," I whispered.

Mrs. Gable gave me one last, lingering look of pure venom before turning on her heel and marching away.

As soon as her footsteps faded, I grabbed Maria’s arm. My grip was tight, my knuckles white. I didn't say a word. I just dragged her into the nearby coat closet and shut the door, turning the lock with a click that echoed in the small, dark space.

"Explain," I hissed, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and terror. "Explain everything, Maria. Right now."

Maria didn't look scared. She leaned back against a row of winter coats, crossing her arms. She looked at me with a level of clarity that was chilling.

"I called the ambulance for Xavier two minutes after you left," Maria said. "By the time they arrived, he was purple. They took him to Graves Hospital, obviously."

"And the alibi?" I demanded. "The clinic? The messenger? How?"

"I knew they’d look for you," Maria said simply. "Xavier is a narcissist. If he wakes up and you aren't there, he doesn't think 'is she okay?', he thinks 'where is my audience?'. So, I called in a favor. I have a friend who works at a private ER downtown. I registered you under your maiden name last night. I told them you were a victim of a hit-and-run who wanted to stay anonymous. Then, this morning, I shifted the records. You were officially there for 'severe anxiety and syncope'."

I was stunned. I let go of her arm, stumbling back against the door. "How did you… why would you do that? You’re a cook, Maria. How do you have friends who can shift hospital records?"

Maria’s expression softened, just a fraction. "I’m not just a cook, Avina. And I think you’ve realized by now that I’m not on Xavier’s side."

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Why help me? You could have turned me in. You saw what I did to him."

Maria stepped closer. The darkness of the closet made her eyes look like obsidian. "I helped you because I’ve been watching you. I watched you go from a bright, happy bride to a ghost. I watched him give you those 'vitamins.' I saw what they did to you."

She paused, her jaw tightening.

"My younger sister, Elena, was a nurse at Graves Hospital four years ago," Maria continued. "She was beautiful, smart, and she cared too much. One day, she called me sounding all hysterical but I couldn't hear what she was saying! But before the connection got cut, I heard Xavier's voice in the background.”

Maria’s voice broke for a split second before she steadied it.

"She vanished the next day without a trace. The police said she ran away with a boyfriend. They said she was unstable. I know better. I know Xavier Graves had something to do with her disappearance. I spent three years working my way into this house, waiting for a chance to find the evidence to bury him."

I felt a chill run down my spine. I wasn't the only one living a double life. This house was a nest of vipers, and I had been the only one who didn't know how to bite.

"I’ve been collecting files," Maria continued. "I have logs of the 'vitamins' he gave you. I have names of other subjects. But I couldn't move against him alone. I’m just a cook. I needed someone with a name. Someone who could get close to the heart of the family."

She looked at me, a grim smile touching her lips.

"Then I saw you last night. I saw the look in your eyes when you watched him struggle for air. You weren't the victim anymore, Avina. You were the executioner. And I realized… you’re the partner I’ve been waiting for."

I leaned my head against the door, closing my eyes. I wanted to trust her. Every fiber of my being screamed that I needed an ally. But my past life had taught me a bitter lesson: trust is a luxury the dead cannot afford.

“How do I know you aren't a spy?” I asked. “How do I know this isn't another trap by Xavier?”

“You don't,” Maria said. “But ask yourself this: if I were a spy, would you be standing here? Or would you be in a police station with the 'rash' on your neck being used as evidence of your infidelity?”

She had me. She knew she had me.

“We have the same goal, Avina,” Maria said. “We want Xavier Graves to suffer. We want the him and that hospital to burn. For now, that’s enough.”

I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her that I would kill her myself if she betrayed me, but the phone in my hand began to vibrate violently.

I looked down at the screen. The name on the display made my stomach drop.

Father.

Sebastian Winslow. The man who might be directly involved in the death of my mom.

"He’s at the hospital," Maria said, glancing at the screen. "You need to go. If you stay here any longer, Gable will come back with a magnifying glass. Go to the hospital. Play the part. Be the worried, broken wife."

"I'm not done with my questions," I said, my voice hardening. I tucked the phone into my pocket. "If I find out you’re lying to me, Maria… if I find out you’re part of their game… I will make sure you’re the first one I burn."

Maria didn't flinch. She just nodded. "I’d expect nothing less. Now go. Your audience is waiting."