It’s early the next day when Lauren returns from the hospital.
I am in the middle of making breakfast when I hear the low rumble of a car outside. Peering through the kitchen window, I watch as Lauren, looking frail and weak, is helped out of her sleek black town car by Christopher. He supports her with a strained smile, his arm securely around her waist as they make their way toward the mansion.
She looks up, and our eyes meet through the glass. I quickly turn away, my mind racing. I can't help but feel a pang of guilt as I reflect on my own suspicions about Christopher. Here he is, acting every inch the concerned husband while, according to my suspicions, he may be trying to kill his wife.
The front door swings open, and Christopher's voice echoes in the marble-tiled hallway. "Emily! Would you mind helping me get Lauren settled?"
I wipe my hands on a towel and rush to assist them. Christopher passes Lauren off to me like he’s dropping off a child at daycare. Lauren clutches at me weakly, her once vibrant eyes clouded with pain and fatigue.
"Let's get you to bed," I say, wrapping my arm around her waist as gently as possible.
Lauren gives me a weak smile. "Thank you, Emily."
As we make our slow journey up the grand staircase toward her suite, I can't help but cast a wary glance over my shoulder. Christopher stands on the bottom step, watching us ascend with an unnerving intensity.
“So,” I ask Lauren, “how are you feeling today?”
“Like I had a heart attack just yesterday," she replies with a wry chuckle that ends in a wince. Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, she adds, "But I suppose that's to be expected."
"I'm sorry you're in pain," I say, my voice soft with empathy.
"Thank you, Emily," she murmurs, leaning more heavily into me. Her weight is so light, just a feather's touch against my side. It's shocking how frail she is. Then again, maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise, given our society’s obsession with thinness.
Navigating down the hall and into Lauren’s room, I help her get ready for bed with practiced ease. My thoughts keep drifting back to Mia's warning and the possible disaster that could unfold if Christopher's intentions are indeed as sinister as I suspect.
What if he tries again? Even if he uses the same method as before, what are the chances her body can endure such an episode twice?
After tucking her into bed with a glass of water, I take a seat on the edge of her bed. She looks so small and vulnerable, tucked among the silk sheets and plush pillows.
"Can I get you anything else?” I ask.
“A healthy body?”
I smile. “I’m afraid I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Don’t put yourself down. I’m told the way you saved me was something of a miracle. If not for your quick thinking, I might not be here now.”
I shrug, uncomfortable with the praise. "I just did what anyone else would've done."
She gives me a weak smile, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine. "Still. I'm grateful."
Her gratitude resonates within me, warm and comforting.
"I'll do my best to make you comfortable," I say, rising from the bed. "Just rest now, okay?"
"Promise... promise you'll stay with me," she whispers, her grip tightening on my hand as an edge of panic seizes her voice.
The desperation in her plea takes me off guard. I look at her, really look at her, and for the first time since I've known Lauren Hollingsworth, I see fear in her eyes. It shakes me to my core.
"Of course," I reply quickly, sitting down on the bed again. "Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know who else I can trust. I don’t know if I can trust anyone else.”
I wait for her to continue, but she remains silent.
“Lauren,” I say slowly, “is there something you want to tell me?”
She closes her eyes and takes a long, bracing breath. Then she opens her eyes again and smiles apologetically.
“I just need rest, is all,” she says. “All this stress is getting to my head. Tomorrow I’ll be better—you’ll see.”
I sense there was more she was going to tell me, but then she changed her mind. I linger, studying her dubiously.
“Go on,” she says with a shooing motion. “I promise I’ll be okay.”
“Alright,” I say slowly as I rise. “But let me know if you need anything?”
“Of course.” She smiles again. “Thank you, Emily.”
I nod and hurry out. I would like to convey to her my suspicions about Christopher and Sophie, but considering her fragile condition, I suppress the urge. Causing her distress could worsen her health even more. As I close the door to her suite, I make up my mind. I need to do everything within my power to protect Lauren Hollingsworth.
Back in the kitchen, I return to my unfinished breakfast and find that I’ve lost my appetite. The thought of Christopher having poisoned his wife churns my stomach. Even more terrifying is the fact that he might do so again.
“Don’t make assumptions,” I whisper to myself, trying to shake off the feeling of dread creeping up my spine. Despite repeating this mantra, however, the unease only seems to grow. It’s like a living, breathing entity lurking in the shadows, preying on my sanity.
The tranquility within the mansion is disrupted by a loud bang coming from somewhere upstairs. Jumping at the sudden noise, I abandon my breakfast completely and rush toward the source of the disturbance.
As I near the staircase, I glance in the direction of Christopher’s office. He’s striding toward me, red-faced, his jaw clenched tight.
Uh-oh. This can’t be good.
“You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you?” he asked, coming to an abrupt halt in front of me.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Yes, you damn well do know what I’m talking about. Snooping around in my office? Pawing through my things?”
My heart gives a violent lurch. How does he know?
As if reading my mind, he answers the unspoken question. “You’re evidently not very good at this because it seems you didn’t even think to check for cameras.”
Damn it.
“But here’s what I want to know,” he continues. “Did you go looking for that spare key, or did you find it by accident?”
“I—” Words fail me. Should I say anything or just keep my mouth shut? Panic runs roughshod over my reason, and I simply freeze, uncertain what to do.
Christopher leans in closer. His eyes pierce into mine. "If you're thinking about telling Lauren anything, I would reconsider."
I think of the photos showing him with Sophie. Are those what he’s referring to?
“She’s already got enough on her plate,” Christopher continues. “So if you care about her, you’ll keep whatever wild theories are growing in that head of yours from reaching her ears.”
He pauses, perhaps waiting for me to respond, but I am still frozen. He nods, apparently pleased by my fear.
“Were it up to me, I would fire you on the spot,” he continues. “But Lauren is quite fond of you—not least of all because of your little act of heroism the other night. Makes it kind of hard to get rid of you now, doesn’t it?”
He leans closer, his eyes boring into mine. “But mark my words. If you meddle in my business again, you won’t just lose your job here. You’ll be lucky to get a job anywhere.”