have you been lying?
A floorboard creaked outside.
Julian’s entire body changed. He reached for the wheelchair, hauled himself into it with practiced speed, and became still again. The transformation was so smooth it made my stomach turn.
Three knocks sounded at the door.
Julian? Vivian Vale called. Is everything all right?
I stood frozen.
Julian mouthed one word.
Please.
I thought of the maid’s warning. Do not trust the medicine tray.
I stepped over the broken glass and opened the door only wide enough to show my face.
Vivian stood in the hallway in pale silk, pearls at her throat, eyes bright but dry. Malcolm stood behind her. Celeste lingered a few steps away, still dressed for the reception, not gone as I had assumed.
That was the second crack in the story.
What happened? Vivian asked.
A lamp fell, I said.
Malcolm’s gaze moved over my shoulder. We heard a crash.
It was a lamp.
Celeste touched my elbow. Livia, dear, you look pale. Come downstairs with me for tea.
Her nails pressed through the lace.
I pulled away.
I am staying with my husband.
The word husband felt strange. A few hours earlier, Julian had been my sentence. Now he was a man in danger, and I had no idea why that made me stand straighter.
Malcolm smiled. New brides can be emotional.
Leave my wife alone, Julian said from behind me.
His voice was quiet, but everyone heard the line it drew.
Malcolm looked past me. Rest, Julian. Tomorrow we will discuss your medication.
No, Julian said. We will not.
For the first time, Vivian’s expression broke. Not with concern. With panic.
Malcolm stepped back.
Sleep well, Mrs. Vale.
The door closed.
Julian waited until the footsteps faded before he moved. This time he did not pretend for me. He gripped the bedpost, gathered himself, and rose.
It was not graceful. His legs trembled. Pain tightened his face. One hand clenched white around the carved wood.
But he stood.
Only five seconds.
Then he sank onto the mattress, breathing hard.
I stared at him as if he had risen from the dead.
Why? I asked.
He wiped sweat from his temple. Because my father changed his will before the fire.
The answer was so far from what I expected that I almost laughed.
Your father is dead.
Yes. And his death made Malcolm very powerful.
Julian reached beneath the mattress and pulled loose a small brass key taped to the frame. He placed it in my palm.
If I am declared permanently dependent, my uncle controls my voting shares and the company trust. If I recover, he loses control. If I prove the fire was not an accident, he loses more than that.
The key felt heavy.
What does this open?
A cabinet in my father’s study.
Why give it to me?
Because I cannot get there without being watched. And because they already bought everyone else.
His eyes moved to my sleeve.
What did Elsie give you?
I unfolded the scrap of paper.
On it, in hurried pencil, were three words.
Blue bottle tonight.
Julian’s face drained of color.
What blue bottle?
He turned toward a silver tray beside the wardrobe. On it sat a glass of water, two white pills, and a small blue
