Chapter 3 - The Blind Spot
Willa froze instantly, her hand hovering just inches from the delicate IV tubing.
If she changed the medical bag right now, whoever was watching through that hidden camera would see her treason on crystal-clear video.
She slowly lowered her hand, pretending to casually brush a stray hair out of Everett's face.
Her mind raced frantically back through the terrifying events of the last forty-eight hours.
Had the camera been recording there since the horrific night of the wedding?
Had they watched her meticulously swapping the medical bags in the dead of night?
She subtly calculated the angle of the tiny lens, tracing its line of sight across the massive master bedroom.
The camera covered the headboard, the medical carts, and the main entryway with perfect precision.
However, the heavy, imposing shadow cast by the large oxygen machine created a small, narrow blind spot right beside Everett’s right hip.
Willa quietly pulled her old, worn armchair across the rug and positioned it perfectly within that narrow strip of shadow.
She sat down, casually resting her hand under the thick blanket until her fingers found Everett’s hand.
One squeeze for yes.
Two squeezes for no.
"I know you can still hear me," she whispered incredibly softly, her lips barely moving in the dim light.
"If you understand that we are currently being recorded, squeeze my hand once."
A long, agonizing minute passed in absolute, suffocating silence.
Then, a firm, deliberate squeeze pressed warmly against her trembling fingers.
Hot tears of sheer relief pricked Willa's eyes, but she ruthlessly kept her face blank for the watching camera.
"I am going to get you out of this nightmare," she murmured, tracing a soothing circle on his rough palm.
Over the next two grueling days, they communicated entirely through desperate touches hidden in the shadows.
She learned that Everett did not trust a single soul in the massive house, not even the old staff.
She learned that the heavy medication was slowly losing its grip on his mind, entirely thanks to her dangerous dilutions.
But their borrowed time was rapidly running out.
On the fourth night, the heavy bedroom door creaked open slightly at two in the morning.
It wasn't the cruel Dr. Whitfield, and it certainly wasn't the arrogant Sterling.
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A young maid Willa had never seen before crept into the room, holding a large, terrifying metal syringe in her gloved hand.
She bypassed the IV stand completely and walked straight toward Everett’s exposed neck.
