Chapter 2 - THE CHRISTMAS THAT NEARLY ENDED
I woke to the sound of a woman counting.
“One, two, three. Good. Keep breathing normally.”
A warm blanket covered my shoulders. Something soft rested beneath my head. I smelled antiseptic, cedarwood, and smoke from the fireplace.
For a moment, I thought I was back in the hospital where my mother had died.
Then I opened my eyes.
A woman with silver-framed glasses leaned over me.
“Emily? I'm Dr. Patel.”
I tried to sit up.
She put a hand on my shoulder.
“Easy. You're safe. You're in Mr. Grimaldi's private medical suite.”
My throat hurt.
“How long?”
“About forty minutes since we brought you inside. Your body temperature was dangerously low. We're warming you gradually, and we're monitoring your heart.”
I looked down.
My wet uniform was gone. Someone had dressed me in dry clothes and wrapped me in warmed blankets.
“Am I in trouble?”
Dr. Patel stopped adjusting the monitor.
“Why would you be?”
“The vase.”
Her expression softened.
“No one is concerned about a vase right now.”
From somewhere beyond the door came a man's voice.
Nicholas.
I couldn't make out every word.
But I heard Richard Caldwell's name.
Then a crash.
Not glass.
Something heavier.
A chair, perhaps.
I flinched.
Dr. Patel noticed.
“Would you prefer the door closed?”
I nodded.
She closed it.
“Mr. Grimaldi is upset,” she said. “But not with you.”
I wanted to believe her.
In my experience, powerful men rarely remained angry with the correct person.
They shouted at whoever could not afford to shout back.
My father had worked for men like that.
My mother had cleaned their houses.
And after both of them died in a highway accident, I had spent three years learning that kindness from an employer could disappear as quickly as a paycheck.
Dr. Patel checked my pulse again.
“Do you have anyone we should contact?”
I shook my head.
“Family?”
“My parents are dead.”
“I'm sorry.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“There is someone.”
She waited.
“My little brother. Daniel.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
“Where is he?”
“At our apartment. He's staying with a neighbor tonight because I was working late.”
“Would you like to call him?”
I nodded.
She handed me a phone.
Daniel answered on the third ring.
“Em?”
His voice broke something inside me.
“Hey.”
“Why are you calling from a weird number?”
“I'm at work.”
“You sound terrible.”
I swallowed.
“It's been a long night.”
“Are you sick?”
“Just cold.”
The lie came automatically.
I hated myself for it.
Daniel had already lost both parents. He shouldn't have to imagine losing me too.
“Did you eat?” I asked.
He sighed.
“Emily.”
“Answer the question.”
“Mrs. Alvarez made lasagna.”
“Good.”
“Are you coming home?”
I looked toward the door.
“I don't know yet.”
Silence.
Then Daniel said, “Something happened.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm okay.”
“You always say that.”
His voice was small.
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
“I'm going to be okay,” I corrected.
This time, I wanted it to be true.
After the call, Dr. Patel helped me drink warm broth.
Then the door opened.
Nicholas stood in the doorway.
He had changed into a charcoal sweater and dark trousers. His hair was still damp.
He looked less like the terrifying owner of the mansion and more like a man who had forgotten to sleep.
“May I come in?”
I stared at him.
He was asking permission.
“Yes.”
He entered and stopped beside the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“That's not what the doctor said.”
I glanced at Dr. Patel.
She raised an eyebrow.
Nicholas sighed.
“Fine. I'll ask a better question. Are you in pain?”
“My hands.”
He looked at them.
The skin was red and swollen.
“Anything else?”
“My feet.”
He nodded.
Then he pulled a chair beside the bed.
“I saw the footage.”
My stomach dropped.
“Mr. Grimaldi, I know the vase was—”
“Emily.”
I stopped.
“I don't care about the vase.”
I stared.
“It belonged to your grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“Richard said—”
“Richard said a great many things.”
Nicholas leaned forward.
“Did he physically force you outside?”
I hesitated.
His expression changed.
“Emily, I need the truth.”
“He grabbed my arm.”
Nicholas looked at my sleeve.
“Where?”
I showed him.
A dark bruise had already begun forming.
He stared at it.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he stood.
“Thank you for telling me.”
He walked toward the door.
“Mr. Grimaldi?”
He stopped.
“Am I fired?”
He turned.
Something painful moved across his face.
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Are you going to take the vase out of my wages?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Emily.”
His voice softened.
“You nearly died on my property because someone decided a piece of porcelain mattered more than your life.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“You don't owe me anything.”
Then he left.
May you like
I heard his footsteps moving down the corridor.
And for the first time since arriving at the Grimaldi mansion, I wondered whether the man everyone feared might be the only person willing to tell me the truth.
