Poisoned By My Husband, Saved By His Eldest Brother

"She barely recognizes the living room on her bad days," Bray said.

He poured a splash of sparkling water into his glass. He didn't look at me. He looked directly at Aunt Martha.

"I recognize our house perfectly fine," I said, setting my fork down.

The Lawson family dining room went quiet. Twenty relatives sat around the long oak table, their silverware pausing mid-air.

"Denial is part of the process," Bray whispered to Martha, loud enough for half the table to hear. "The doctors warned me."

"I don't have a process," I snapped. "I have a husband who lies."

"Lina, please," Uncle Robert murmured from my left. "Bray is just worried about you. You look terribly pale."

"I'm pale because he's feeding me pills that make me sick."

Bray sighed, a heavy, theatrical sound. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. His palm felt clammy.

"Your paranoia is peaking again," he said gently. "We talked about this."

I yanked my hand away. "Don't touch me."

Aunt Martha gasped.

"There's no need for hostility, Lina."

The voice came from the far end of the room.

Dr. Mila Thorne stepped out of the hallway shadows and into the dining room light. She wore a tailored navy dress. A leather medical portfolio rested under her arm.

"What is she doing here?" I demanded, pushing my chair back.

"I invited her," Bray said. "To keep an eye on you."

"Since when do physicians attend family banquets?"

"Since my patient started exhibiting severe neurological decline," Mila replied.

She walked over to Uncle Robert and placed a single sheet of paper next to his dinner plate.

"What is that?" I asked.

Robert adjusted his reading glasses. He squinted at the text. "Good heavens. Are her white blood cell counts really this erratic?"

"They are," Mila confirmed. "Her immune system is attacking her nervous system. It creates confusion. Mood swings. Hallucinations."

"You have no right to show my medical records to my uncle!" I shouted.

I laughed. A dry, scraping sound that shocked even me. I expected to cry, but the sheer absurdity of the moment forced a harsh giggle from my throat.

"You're passing my chart around like a party favor," I said.

"Bray gave me proxy consent," Mila stated smoothly. "Given your compromised mental state."

"I am not compromised!"

I stood up to snatch the paper from Robert.

The moment my shoes left the floor, gravity vanished. The crystal chandelier above the table swayed violently to the left. The room spun in a rapid, sickening circle.

My knees folded.

I grabbed the edge of the mahogany table. My fingernails dug into the wood.

"Lina!" Aunt Martha shrieked.

Bray was out of his chair in a second. He caught my waist, hauling me upright against his chest.

"See?" Bray called out to the room. "This is exactly what I mean. She pushes herself too hard."

"Let me go," I muttered. My tongue felt thick. The words slurred together.

"She's having an episode," Mila announced calmly from across the room. "Her blood pressure just bottomed out."

"I just stood up too fast," I argued, but my head lolled against Bray’s shoulder.

"Take her home, Bray," Robert urged. "She needs her bed."

"I can't leave yet," Bray said, adjusting his grip on my waist. "I have to settle the caterers and lock up the estate. Marcus can drive her back."

"I don't need Marcus," I whispered, fighting to keep my eyes open. "I'll call a cab."

"You're in no condition to ride with a stranger," Bray insisted.

He practically carried me to the front foyer. The heavy wooden doors stood open, letting in the freezing night air. Marcus, his personal driver, waited by the idling black sedan in the driveway.

Bray shoved my coat into my arms.

"Go home," he ordered. "Take the blue pills on the nightstand. I'll be back in an hour."

"You're a liar," I managed to say.

He ignored me. He turned around and walked back into the dining room.

I stumbled down the front steps. The biting wind slapped my face, clearing the fog in my brain just a fraction. I reached the car and yanked the passenger door open.

I patted my coat pockets. Empty.

My purse. My phone. My keys. They were all sitting on the floor beside my dining chair.

"Marcus, wait," I said.

"Ma'am?"

"I forgot my bag. I'll be right back."

"Mr. Lawson said to bring you straight home," Marcus warned, stepping out of the driver's side.

"I can't get into the house without my keys," I fired back.

I slammed the car door shut.

I didn't want to walk back through the front entrance and face twenty pitying stares. The estate had a side path that led to the patio doors. I could slip into the dining room unnoticed, grab my things, and leave.

I wrapped my coat tighter around my shivering frame and hurried down the stone walkway.

Tall rose bushes lined the perimeter, casting long, jagged shadows across the grass. The music from inside the house muffled the sound of my footsteps.

I rounded the corner. The patio came into view.

Two figures stood by the stone fountain.

I stopped behind a thick oak tree. My lungs seized.

Bray stood with his back to the house. Mila stood in front of him.

"You pushed too hard in there," Bray said. His tone held none of the gentle concern he used at the dinner table. It was sharp. Impatient.

"They needed to see the paperwork," Mila replied. "Robert is the family executor. If he believes she's losing her mind, he won't contest the will."

"She almost figured it out tonight."

"She didn't figure out anything. The dosage I gave her this morning guarantees she won't remember half of this tomorrow."

My stomach dropped.

The blue pills. The white capsules. The dizziness.

Mila reached up and ran her fingers through Bray’s hair.

"How much longer?" she asked, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"Two weeks," Bray promised. "Her liver will fail completely by the end of the month. The insurance payout takes thirty days to clear."

"Five million," Mila murmured.

"All ours."

Bray grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against him. He tilted her chin up.

He kissed her.

It wasn't a quick peck. It was a deep, hungry, consuming kiss. Mila wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

A ringing sound started in my ears. It grew louder, drowning out the music, the wind, the splashing fountain.

My husband was killing me.

My doctor was helping him.

The poison in my veins surged, reacting to the massive spike of adrenaline. The patio stones tilted upward. The sky spun out of control.

I tried to step back. My heel caught the edge of a paving stone.

I stumbled out from behind the oak tree.

Bray broke the kiss. His head snapped in my direction.

"Lina?" he gasped.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

The black dots swarmed my vision, swallowing the light. My legs gave out completely. I hit the frozen ground hard, the impact jarring my teeth.

The darkness dragged me under.

Right before my mind shut off completely, I heard Mila’s footsteps approach my face.

"Well," she said, her voice dripping with cold amusement. "That speeds up the timeline."