Secret conspiracy

Clarissa returned from the drinks table, holding a glass carefully in her hand. She approached Xavier, trying to catch his attention, tilting her head in that same playful way she always did.

  “Here, I got this for you,” she said, offering the glass, her smile bright and teasing.

  Xavier didn’t move. His hands rested on his cane, fingers wrapped lightly around it, posture straight and controlled. He didn’t even glance in her direction.

  “You really don’t trust me, do you?” she asked, her voice soft but carrying that playful note, as if coaxing him to respond.

  “I don’t trust gestures,” Xavier said flatly, his voice low, almost clipped.

  Clarissa blinked, her grin faltering just slightly, though she didn’t let it show. “Come on… it’s just a drink. I mean, it’s not like I’d hurt you—”

  “I'll pass." he said quietly.

  Her lips pressed together for a brief moment, frustrated, then amused. She let out a light sigh and set the glass down on the table, the soft clink barely audible over the murmurs of the party. Leaning slightly closer, as if to entice him, she lowered her voice. “You smell… incredible by the way,” she said, stepping just close enough to make him notice, then pulling back before she could overstep.

  She straightened abruptly. “I’ll be right back,” she said, almost to herself, and turned to make her way to the center of the room.

  The chatter quieted as she stepped onto the small platform. Her voice rang out, clear and deliberate.

  “Thank you all for coming tonight. I want to especially acknowledge my parents—thank you for always supporting me,” she said, glancing briefly around the hall. 

  “And, of course,” she added, pausing for effect, “I am honored to welcome Mr. Xavier Cole. Thank you for gracing this celebration with your presence. It truly means a lot.”

  As Clarissa stepped down, a man slid into the seat beside Xavier. He raised his glass with a chuckle.

  “It’s a perfect night… for those who can actually see it, anyway.”

  Xavier didn’t need to turn. He knew that voice. Simon, his half‑brother.

  He said nothing, didn’t react. He only listened, the faint trace of Simon’s cologne marking him before he even moved. Simon, of course, didn’t care about subtlety.

  “Well,” Simon said, swirling the wine in his glass, “what a night. Music, lights, laughter… Shame not everyone gets the full picture.” He chuckled, a sharp, arrogant sound.

  A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see Lady Vivienne. She didn’t speak, just flicked her eyes toward the corridor with a silent command. They moved, slipping past the guests, past closed doors, until the music dulled to a distant thrum.

  Someone was waiting. Dr. Halden.

  “Dr. Halden,” Vivienne said, her tone smooth, controlled, her smile thin and precise.

  “Lady Vivienne. Mr. Simon,” the man replied, bowing slightly.

  Simon frowned. “Why is he here?”

  Vivienne waved the question away. “Too many people, too much noise. No one will think twice about a private conversation.” She indicated the chairs. Simon sat, Vivienne followed.

  Simon leaned forward. “Did you do it?”

  Dr. Halden nodded. “Yes. I told him the damage was permanent. Recovery would be… unlikely.”

  “How unlikely?” Simon pressed, his tone sharper now.

  “I made it clear he would need rare donors. That regaining sight would be nearly impossible.”

  Vivienne’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Good. Very good.”

  Simon straightened, eyes glinting. “What if we remove the ‘nearly’? What if we make sure there’s no chance at all?”

  Dr. Halden stiffened. “That’s extremely risky. One mistake—”

  Vivienne leaned forward, her voice soft but deadly. “Then don’t make one.” She reached into her purse, sliding a card across the table. “You’ll be paid well.”

  Simon smirked, leaning back. “A blind man is already half erased anyway.”

  Vivienne’s smile hardened. “Decide quickly, Doctor.”

  Dr. Halden leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. For a moment, no one spoke. The distant music from the party seeped through the walls, muffled but persistent.

  He exhaled slowly. “I’ll need time,” he said at last. “This isn’t something I can decide on impulse.”

  Lady Vivienne’s smile faded. She let out a quiet, impatient sigh. “Time?” she repeated. “What exactly is there to think about, Doctor?”

  Halden avoided her eyes. “Everything. One wrong move and—”

  “—and nothing,” Vivienne cut in smoothly. “Absolutely nothing will go wrong if you do as you’re told.”

  Simon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice was calm, almost bored. “Fine. We’ll be generous.” He tilted his head. “You have tonight. And tomorrow. By tomorrow night, we expect your answer.”

  Dr. Halden swallowed. “You’re asking me to cross a line.”

  Simon smiled faintly. “You crossed it the moment you lied to him.”

  The doctor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.

  Simon stood, straightening his jacket. “Oh—and one more thing.” His tone softened, dangerously so. “Your daughter. She’s still in Canada, right? Nice school. Safe neighborhood.”

  Dr. Halden’s head snapped up. “Leave her out of this.”

  Vivienne finally stood as well, her heels clicking lightly against the floor. “That depends on you,” she said coolly. “We’d hate for distractions to affect her studies.”

  Simon stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Give us a positive response before tomorrow night. If you don’t…” He shrugged lightly. “Accidents happen. Even to well-protected children.”

  The room felt smaller suddenly, the air heavier.

  Dr. Halden clenched his hands in his lap, knuckles whitening. “You’re monsters,” he said quietly.

  Vivienne smiled, cold and satisfied. “No, Doctor. We’re practical.”

  She turned toward the door, Simon falling into step beside her. As they walked away, the music from the party swelled again, cheerful and oblivious.

  Dr. Halden remained seated, staring at the table, the threat hanging in the silence like a blade.