Chapter 7 - THE ENEMY IN THE HALLWAY
The next morning, the heavy morning sunlight did little to warm the oppressive atmosphere of the Kane estate.
Willa was standing by the bedside, quietly checking the drip rate of the saline-diluted infusion, when a sharp, authoritative rap echoed against the open bedroom door.
Sterling Kane didn't wait for an invitation. He strolled into the room wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his silver silk tie immaculate, a sickeningly polite smile plastered across his face.
“Well, well,” Sterling purred, his eyes scanning the intensive-care setup with casual disdain. “How is the blushing bride? I trust the accommodations meet your modest standards, Willa?”
Willa did not flinch. She deliberately finished checking the IV line before turning slowly to face him, keeping her hands steady inside the pockets of her cardigan.
“The room is quiet, Sterling. Exactly what I need,” she replied flatly.
Sterling chuckled, taking two slow steps closer to the bed. He glanced down at Everett with an expression that sat somewhere between boredom and quiet contempt.
“It’s tragic, really,” Sterling murmured, shaking his head with theatrical sorrow. “A titan like Everett reduced to a breathing corpse. The board of Kane Freight is growing restless, Willa. Without his signature, restructuring the secondary logistics assets is a legal nightmare. That’s why your presence here is so... convenient. A legal spouse keeps prying probate judges off our backs.”
“You sound like you’re planning a funeral instead of a recovery,” Willa said, her voice chilling the air between them.
Sterling’s smile flickered, replaced for a split second by a hard, calculating glint in his eyes. He stepped closer to Willa, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry past the door.
“Watch your tone, little nurse. You’re playing in a league far beyond your pay grade at the Lakeside Grill. Your mother’s memory-care facility is paid for, yes—month to month. But one wrong move, one misplaced word to the wrong person, and those checks stop clearing. And trust me, nobody comes looking for a disgraced ex-nurse living out of a Honda.”
He reached out, his manicured fingers tapping mockingly against the metal frame of Everett’s bed.
“Keep him breathing, keep your mouth shut, and play the grieving wife. Do that, and you and your mother live comfortably. Step out of line... and you'll find out just how fast a homeless girl can disappear in Chicago.”
With a slick, self-satisfied smirk, Sterling turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his expensive leather shoes clicking rhythmically down the marble corridor.
May you like
Willa stood completely still, her fingernails biting deep into her palms until the skin turned white.
On the bed, completely invisible to Sterling’s departing gaze, Everett Kane’s right hand twitched again—this time closing firmly into a fist against the wool blanket.
