Chapter 2 - THE ONE THING HE FORBADE“Fine.”
Clara capped the syringe.
“If you won’t give me a number, I’ll assume your pain is manageable.”
Liam Mercer’s eyes shifted from the ceiling.
That got his attention.
“You’re withholding medication?”
“No. I’m refusing to guess.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“Exactly. Not a psychic.”
His jaw tightened.
“Get Leo.”
“No.”
“Get. Leo.”
Clara pulled the rolling tray closer and began organizing medication.
“Leo isn’t responsible for your pain assessment. I am.”
Liam stared at her with the expression of a man deciding whether murder was worth the paperwork.
“Eight.”
Clara looked over.
“What?”
“My pain.”
He practically spat the words.
“Eight.”
“Thank you.”
She prepared the prescribed dose.
Liam watched suspiciously as she connected the syringe to his IV.
“You enjoy this.”
“Watching a grown man discover basic communication?”
She considered it.
“A little.”
His eyes narrowed.
Clara injected the medication slowly.
Within minutes, tension began leaving his shoulders.
That was their rhythm.
He fought.
She refused to fight back.
He threatened.
She treated.
He attempted to control everything because his own body had become uncontrollable.
Clara simply kept returning.
By the fifth day, Liam had stopped telling her to leave.
By the sixth, he started noticing when she did.
It happened at 3:17 in the morning.
He woke drenched in sweat.
The room was dark.
His abdomen burned.
For one confused second, he believed he was back inside the SUV.
Gunfire.
Breaking glass.
The smell of gasoline.
His driver screaming.
Then memory returned.
Bedroom.
Estate.
Recovery.
He reached for the call button.
Stopped.
He hated that button.
Hated needing anyone.
Then the bathroom door opened.
Clara stepped out carrying fresh towels.
“You’re awake.”
“What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“At three in the morning?”
“You developed a fever.”
Liam frowned.
“You didn’t wake me.”
“You needed sleep.”
She crossed toward him and placed a thermometer beneath his tongue before he could object.
He glared.
Clara checked her watch.
“Save the intimidating stare. I’ve seen scarier toddlers.”
He removed the thermometer.
“My employees generally fear me.”
“Your employees have better salaries.”
She checked the reading.
101.8.
Her humor disappeared.
She examined his wound.
The redness had spread.
“Damn.”
“What?”
“Your infection isn’t responding fast enough.”
“I’m alive.”
“That’s an impressively low standard.”
Clara reached for the bedside phone.
“I’m calling Dr. Harrington.”
“No.”
She stopped.
“He needs to examine you.”
“No doctors.”
“Liam.”
It was the first time she had used his first name.
His expression changed.
Clara noticed but continued.
“You could be developing sepsis.”
“No hospital.”
“I didn’t say hospital.”
“I know what happens next. Doctor comes. Doctor panics. Ambulance comes. Everyone treats me like a corpse that hasn’t received the memo.”
His breathing accelerated.
Clara suddenly understood.
This was not stubbornness.
It was fear.
“What happened at the hospital?”
“Nothing.”
“Liam.”
“Drop it.”
She did.
That surprised him.
Instead, Clara pulled the leather chair beside the bed.
“Then we compromise.”
He looked suspicious.
“How?”
“I call Harrington. He comes here. No ambulance unless your blood pressure crashes, oxygen falls, or you become unstable.”
“And if I say no?”
“I call him anyway.”
“That isn’t compromise.”
“You’re learning.”
Something almost moved at the corner of his mouth.
Almost.
Harrington arrived forty minutes later.
The diagnosis was serious but manageable.
The infection required stronger antibiotics and wound debridement.
Liam endured the procedure without complaint.
But Clara saw his hands.
They shook.
After the doctor left, she changed the sheets.
“You can stop pretending now.”
Liam looked at her.
“Pretending what?”
“That it didn’t hurt.”
His face hardened.
“Pain doesn’t matter.”
“People usually say that when pain matters a lot.”
She turned toward the enormous windows.
The blackout curtains remained sealed.
For six days, Clara had obeyed the strangest rule in the house.
Do not touch the blinds.
She was beginning to understand why.
Liam had not seen daylight since returning from the hospital.
He had turned his room into a tomb.
Clara checked his chart.
“Your circadian rhythm is destroyed.”
“My what?”
“You sleep at noon and stare at the ceiling at four in the morning.”
“I’ve always slept badly.”
“You’re also depressed.”
Liam’s gaze snapped toward her.
“Careful.”
There it was.
The warning.
Clara ignored it.
“I’m not diagnosing you. I’m telling you what I see.”
“What you see is none of your concern.”
“It became my concern when someone started paying me ten thousand dollars a week.”
His expression cooled.
“Money.”
“Yes.”
“You really do everything for money.”
The words were casual.
But they hit precisely where Clara was weakest.
She turned slowly.
“You think you know why I’m here?”
“You’ve mentioned the paycheck every day.”
“Because you understand money.”
“I understand greed.”
Clara laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Of course you do.”
She began collecting supplies.
Liam watched her.
Something was different.
He had finally found a wound.
“Who is it?”
Clara stopped.
“What?”
“People don’t work seven days straight for cash unless somebody needs it.”
She said nothing.
“Your husband?”
“No.”
“Child?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Clara looked at him.
“My brother.”
Liam waited.
“Tommy is seventeen.”
She folded a towel.
“He has leukemia.”
Liam’s expression changed.
“He’s dying?”
Clara’s hands stopped.
“Not if I can help it.”
Silence filled the room.
“The trial he qualifies for costs more than insurance will cover. I’m here because every Friday I stay in this ridiculous house buys him another chance.”
Liam looked away.
For once, he had no cruel answer.
Clara walked toward the door.
“Try to sleep.”
“Clara.”
She stopped.
He had never used her first name either.
“What?”
“Open them.”
She frowned.
“The curtains.”
Clara stared.
Leo’s warning returned.
You do not touch the blinds.
“He said you forbade it.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I changed my mind.”
She crossed the room.
Her hands closed around the curtains.
Then she pulled.
Morning exploded into the bedroom.
Liam flinched.
Golden winter sunlight poured across the white carpet and enormous bed.
For several seconds he squeezed his eyes shut.
Then slowly opened them.
Outside, snow covered the estate grounds.
Pines glittered beneath a pale blue sky.
Liam stared as if seeing the world for the first time.
Clara watched his face.
His eyes filled.
He immediately turned away.
She pretended not to notice.
That was the one thing Liam Mercer had forbidden.
And when Clara opened those curtains, she did more than let daylight into his room.
She reminded him there was still a world outside his pain.
Neither of them knew someone was watching from the doorway.
Leo.
And when Clara left for breakfast, he quietly entered.
Liam was still looking outside.
“You opened the blinds.”
“She did.”
“You fired Nurse Holloway for touching those curtains.”
“I remember.”
Leo hesitated.
“You want Bennett gone?”
Liam finally looked at him.
“No.”
It was the speed of the answer that surprised them both.
Leo nodded.
Then placed a folder on Liam’s lap.
“We found the man who ordered the ambush.”
Liam’s humanity vanished.
“Who?”
May you like
Leo’s expression darkened.
“Your brother.”
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