Chapter 10 - The Silent Accomplice
"I already took them, Ethan," I said, stepping out in my bathrobe with a forced smile that felt like glass against my skin. "Fell asleep right on the sofa earlier, actually."
Ethan stood in the doorway, framed by the warm amber glow of the hallway sconces. Tall, impeccably tailored in a charcoal suit, with silver dusting his temples, he looked every bit the respected biomedical researcher the world revered. In his right hand, he held a porcelain mug of herbal tea, steam curling lazily into the air. His eyes—usually so warm and attentive—swept over me with microscopic scrutiny.
"You look pale," he said, taking a slow step forward. He extended the mug toward me. "Drink this. It will settle your nerves. The storm outside is rattling the windows; I wouldn't want you waking up in the middle of the night again."
"I'm fine, really," I said, retreating half an inch toward the dressing vanity. "Who was that out by the greenhouse just now? I saw headlights down the driveway."
Ethan’s eyes didn’t widen, but his smile tightened by a fraction of a millimeter—a subtle shift only someone who had shared a bed with him for seven years would notice.
"Just Dr. Vance dropping off some research documentation," Ethan replied without missing a beat. "We're finalizing the clinical trial submission for the university. You shouldn't worry your head about work matters, darling."
May you like
Dr. Marcus Vance. Our family physician. The man who had written every single one of my prescription refills for the past four years, assuring me that my sudden memory lapses and chronic fatigue were simply early-onset stress migraines. The circle was closing. Ethan hadn't acted alone; the medical establishment that surrounded my life was complicit.
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