Chapter 3
Marcus ran upstairs.
I wanted to follow.
My body refused.
Nora helped me into a chair, then pulled the empty crimson dress away like it was contaminated.
“Don’t touch the tea,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She looked frightened.
Not nervous.
Frightened.
“How long have you known?” I asked.
Her eyes filled.
“I suspected after the funeral.”
“And you said nothing?”
“She threatened my son.”
The anger in me faltered.
“What?”
Nora swallowed.
“He works in the Mercer stables. She said if I spoke, he would be blamed for stealing horses. She has documents.”
Of course she did.
Victoria Mercer did not make threats without paperwork.
Upstairs, Marcus shouted.
“Mother!”
The word hit me like thunder.
Not because he said it.
Because someone answered.
“Marcus, darling. You should not have brought her here.”
Nora grabbed my arm.
“Come.”
She led me through the kitchen and into the pantry.
Behind shelves of imported wine and flour tins, she pressed a hidden latch.
A narrow stairway opened.
My skin went cold.
“How many secret rooms does this house have?”
“Too many.”
We descended slowly.
My baby shifted inside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to my belly. “I’m trying.”
The basement smelled of dust, medicine, and old flowers.
At the bottom was a steel door.
Nora unlocked it with a key from her apron.
Inside were shelves of medical supplies.
Bottles.
Papers.
Video monitors.
And on one screen, I saw myself.
Sleeping.
Eating.
Crying.
Drinking tea.
My stomach twisted.
“She watched me.”
Nora nodded.
“She watched everyone.”
I stepped closer to the desk.
A file sat open.
My name was written across the top.
Elena Mercer.
Diagnosis: prenatal psychosis, escalating self-harm risk.
May you like
My breath stopped.
The report was dated tomorrow.
