A Reckoning on Lancaster Territory

Then she turned to Harrison, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"We grew up together," she said softly, playing her strongest emotional card.

"You know me better than anyone, Harrison. You know I wouldn't even harm an ant."

Her lips trembled.

"If she insists this was intentional... then she's not just panicking."

She paused, delivering the final, devastating blow. "She's accusing me of being a murderer."

Harrison froze.

He looked down at me, curled on the floor, gasping violently, my fingers scratching at the expensive tiles. Then he looked at her, standing tall, tearful but composed, armed with evidence, logic, and reason.

His jaw tightened.

"I believe you, Colleen," he said finally.

He let go of my arm and stood up fully, moving to stand in front of her, as if I were the aggressor.

"This is my fault," he added, a note of frustration in his voice.

"I shouldn't have let things get this far."

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sharp breath.

"I've spoiled her," he said, his tone laced with a patronizing disdain that served as the final verdict on our relationship.

"The moment she feels the slightest bit uncomfortable, she thinks someone is attacking her."

His gaze returned to me, the disappointment clear and heavy.

"I'll have her apologize to you when she calms down."

I lay collapsed on the cold tiles, my body barely responding.

The rough tiles scraped against my skin, my cheek pressed against the cold stone.

Around us, people moved quickly—but to comfort her.

"It's okay, don't cry, Colleen."

"We all know you didn't mean it. You're a professional."

"She's clearly overreacting. Girls these days are too sensitive."

"Harrison, seriously, how do you put up with her?"

Someone let out an awkward laugh.

"She's such a drama queen."

Harrison stood by her side, a protective hand on her back. When he spoke to her, his voice was soft, patient, and soothing.

It was the same tone he had used when he told me he loved me, when he promised he would always be on my side.

It was then that my gaze traveled past the crowd and fell on a white metal cabinet fixed to the glasshouse wall.

An emergency medical station.

This estate belonged to my family. Every area was equipped with an emergency kit according to Lancaster Group security protocols.

Each box contained an oxygen mask, an EpiPen, and an asthma inhaler.

If I could just get to it.

A flicker of hope sparked in the suffocating darkness. My fingers twitched on the tiles as I dragged my body forward, inch by inch.

I just needed a few more breaths.

I pulled myself forward like a bird with a broken wing, every movement tearing at my lungs.