After marrying that vegetative billionaire CEO

The nurse quit on my third day.

"He doesn't need a wife," she told me, peeling off her gloves. "He needs a professional. Good luck."

So I became one.

I moved my things into Neon's room that night. A cot by the window. My sketchbooks stacked on his nightstand. I watched videos on bed baths and pressure sores until two in the morning, then practiced folding a towel the way the hospital manual showed.

"Okay," I said the next morning, wringing out a warm cloth. "This is going to be awkward for both of us. But you can't complain, so I win."

I washed his face first. Then his neck. Then the long, still lines of his arms.

His skin was warmer than I expected.

"Your cousin wore white to breakfast," I told him, working lotion into his palm. "White. Like she was the bride. Your aunt asked if I'd 'gotten used to the money yet.' I said I'd gotten used to the silverware. She didn't laugh."

I bent his fingers one at a time, the way the physical therapist had shown me. Stretch. Hold. Release.

"Your hand moved, you know. That first night." I paused. "I keep waiting for it to happen again."

It didn't.

---

By the second week, his room was the only place in the house where I could breathe.

I'd sit cross-legged on the edge of his bed with my sketchpad, pencil behind my ear, and talk while I drew.

"Your Uncle Richard cornered me in the library today." I shaded the edge of a setting. "He asked if I'd hired a lawyer yet. For the will. I told him I'd hired a physical therapist. He looked at me like I'd spoken Russian."

The monitor beeped its steady answer.

"I know. He's exhausting."

I turned the pad around and held it up to his closed eyes.

Two stones. A sapphire and a white diamond, each in its own separate bezel. Neither one touching the other. But I'd angled them so the light from one would bounce straight into the heart of the other.

"It's for you," I said. "Two people stuck in the same place. Separate. But not alone."

I propped the drawing against his water glass.

"You see, Mr. Neon? Who says trapped people can't have their own light?"

I laughed at myself. Then I leaned over and fixed the pillow under his head.

For a second, I could have sworn his breathing changed.

---

The trouble started with the pills.

On Thursday, the white tablets in his evening tray looked smaller. Rounder. I counted them twice against the chart taped inside the cabinet.

"Rosa," I called to the maid as she passed. "Did the pharmacy change his prescription?"

She didn't meet my eyes. "No, ma'am."

"These aren't the same."

"I only bring the tray, ma'am."

She hurried off. I took a photo of the tray. Then the bottle. Then the chart.

That night, I went down to the medicine room on the ground floor to check the stock myself. The door was unlocked. I didn't think twice about it.

I should have.

---

Saturday morning, eleven people crowded into Neon's bedroom.

"Why here?" I asked, stepping between them and his bed.

"Because this concerns him." Richard closed the door behind the last cousin. "And because you seem to think this room is yours."

Eleanor sat in the armchair by the window, both hands folded on her cane. She wouldn't look at me. That scared me more than anything.

Richard dropped a stack of photos on the foot of the bed.

Me, opening the medicine room door. Me, alone inside. Timestamped 11:42 p.m.

"The lab tested his last three doses," Richard said. "Someone swapped his heart medication for a sedative. A strong one. Enough, over time, to stop his breathing completely."

The room erupted.

"Oh my God."

"I *told* you she was after the trust—"

"Mother, are you hearing this?"

My face went hot, then ice cold. "I went in there because the pills were wrong. I noticed it first."

"How convenient." Chloe folded her arms. "You noticed your own poison."

"Rosa brought the tray. Ask her."

Richard nodded at the doorway. Rosa stepped forward, twisting her apron in both hands.

"Rosa," I said. "Tell them."

Her chin trembled. "Mrs. Olivia told me to bring the tray to her first. Every night. She said she wanted to check it herself."

My stomach dropped.

"That's not—" I stared at her. "Rosa. Why are you saying this?"

She stared at the floor.

Neon's Aunt Margaret, who had squeezed my hand at dinner just yesterday, edged away from me. "Olivia, dear… you have to admit how this looks."

"Mother." Richard turned to Eleanor. "You brought her into this house. You gave her a studio. You let her sleep beside your grandson. And she's been killing him one pill at a time."

Eleanor's lips parted. Nothing came out.

"Grandmother," I said quietly. "You know me."

"I've known you three weeks," she whispered.

That one landed somewhere deep, under my ribs.

Richard came around the bed until he stood over me. He smelled like expensive cologne and old coffee.

"Did you really think marrying into the Sterlings would turn you into a swan?" His voice dropped, almost gentle. "You're nothing. A girl whose boyfriend crawled into bed with her own sister. A pathetic little castoff your father sold to the highest bidder."

My nails bit into my palms. I didn't flinch.

"Are you finished?"

He blinked.

"Because I have something to show everyone, too." I pulled my phone from my pocket. "Photos of the tray. Dated. Every night since Thursday. And a voice memo from the pharmacy confirming they never—"

"Take her."

Two guards moved from the wall.

"Richard!" Eleanor half-rose from her chair. "Wait—"

"I'm protecting this family, Mother. The police can sort out her little photos." He didn't even glance back. "Get her out of my nephew's room."

A hand clamped around my upper arm. Another grabbed my wrist and twisted. The phone flew out of my fingers and skidded under the bed.

"Let me *go*—" I dug my heels into the carpet. "He's lying! Check the phone, it's right there—"

They dragged me anyway. My shoulder slammed into the nightstand. The drawing of the ring fluttered off the water glass and landed face-up on the floor.

Chloe stepped on it on her way to watch.

"Bye-bye, widow," she sang.

The door was three feet away. Two.

Then a voice came from behind us. Low. Rough, like it hadn't been used in a very long time.

"Who gave you permission to touch my wife?"

Every person in the room turned to stone.

The guard's grip loosened on my arm.

Slowly, I twisted around.

On the bed, against the white pillow I had fluffed that morning, Neon Sterling's eyes were open.

Dark. Clear. Fixed on his uncle.

And absolutely, terrifyingly awake.