Chapter 3: The Dead Man's Warning
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph.
Vincent.
Sophia.
And the reflection of a man who was supposed to be dead.
At 2:17 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Another message.
*Don't trust anyone in that house. Especially the woman who prepares your tea.*
I read it three times.
Then I called the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Someone answered.
"Hello?""
A man's voice.
Low and rough.
"Who are you?"" I whispered.
"Someone who should have contacted you a long time ago.""
"How do you know about my illness?""
A pause.
"Because I saw what they put in your kitchen.""
My stomach tightened.
"Who?""
"I can't explain over the phone. Are you still at the hospital?""
"Yes.""
"Good. Stay there.""
"Tell me who you are!""
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Then I noticed something.
The number had disappeared.
No caller ID.
No call history.
Nothing.
I pressed the nurse's button.
When a young woman entered, I asked her to contact Dr. Hayes.
I needed someone I could trust.
An hour later, Dr. Hayes arrived carrying a tablet.
"You're awake early.""
"I received a strange message.""
I showed her the photograph and the text.
She studied it carefully.
"Do you know the sender?""
"No.""
She sat beside me.
"Claire, I want you to understand something. Your symptoms are serious, but we still need evidence before identifying a cause.""
I nodded.
"There's something in my house. A tea my housekeeper prepares. My breathing became worse after I started drinking it.""
Dr. Hayes looked up.
"How often do you drink it?""
"Every night.""
"Stop immediately. I'll have our toxicology team review any remaining sample if you can obtain one.""
I swallowed.
"Can I leave the hospital?""
"Not today.""
"I need to go home.""
"Absolutely not.""
Her voice was firm.
"Your lungs need treatment, and I won't discharge you just because someone sent you a frightening message.""
I looked down.
For the first time in five years, a stranger was more concerned about my survival than my husband.
"All right," I whispered.
Dr. Hayes squeezed my hand.
"Good. Let us do our job.""
At 9:30 that morning, the hospital administrator arrived.
He was a tall man in a charcoal suit.
"Mrs. Moretti, I'm Daniel Brooks, hospital administration.""
I recognized him.
He had attended our wedding.
He also happened to be Vincent's most trusted financial officer.
"Mr. Brooks.""
He placed a folder on the bedside table.
"Your husband asked me to handle some administrative matters.""
I looked at the folder.
"What matters?""
"Your medical expenses, primarily.""
I raised an eyebrow.
"My husband owns this hospital.""
"Yes, ma'am.""
"Then why are you here discussing my bill?""
Daniel cleared his throat.
"Mr. Moretti has requested that all personal medical expenses be processed separately from the company's accounts.""
I stared at him.
"Are you telling me he doesn't want to pay for my treatment?""
"That's not exactly what I said.""
"Then tell me exactly what he said.""
Daniel shifted his weight.
"He instructed us not to extend preferential treatment based on marital status.""
I let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Interesting.""
I looked at him.
"Does Sophia Reynolds pay for her appointments?""
His expression changed.
"Miss Reynolds is registered under a private executive account.""
"Whose account?""
He didn't answer.
I already knew.
Vincent's.
I pushed the folder away.
"Take it back.""
"Mrs. Moretti—"
"I said take it back.""
Daniel collected the folder.
Before leaving, he hesitated.
"There's something else.""
I looked up.
"Your husband has requested copies of your medical records.""
My stomach tightened.
"Why?""
"He said he wanted to review them personally.""
"Did he ask for copies of Sophia's records?""
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
"I wouldn't know.""
"Then tell him he can speak to my doctor himself.""
He nodded and left.
I picked up my phone again.
The unknown sender had sent another message.
*Ask Vincent about the night his father disappeared.*
I stared at the words.
Seven years earlier, Vincent had returned home from a business trip with a bloodstained shirt.
He told me there had been an accident.
Two days later, his father was declared dead.
I had never questioned the story.
I had loved Vincent.
I had believed him.
Now I wondered how much of our marriage had been built on things I was never allowed to know.
At noon, Dr. Hayes returned.
She brought a laboratory technician with her.
"Claire, we've received some preliminary results.""
I sat up.
"What did you find?""
"Your blood tests show an abnormality that requires further investigation. It doesn't establish poisoning, but combined with your symptoms and the history you've described, we should test any substances you've been regularly consuming.""
I thought of the tea.
"Can I ask someone to bring a sample?""
"Yes. But don't send anyone who might interfere with it. Have a trusted person collect it directly.""
I didn't have anyone.
My parents had died when I was twenty-two.
I had no siblings.
My closest friends had gradually disappeared after marrying Vincent. He disliked people who asked too many questions.
I had been alone for years.
Then I remembered someone.
Margaret.
The housekeeper who had worked for the Moretti family since before my wedding.
She had once been kind to me.
And, more importantly, she had recently begun looking frightened whenever I entered the kitchen.
I called her.
She answered on the second ring.
"Mrs. Moretti?""
"Margaret, I need your help.""
Her breathing changed.
"Are you all right, ma'am?""
"I'm in the hospital. I need you to find the tea you prepare for me every night.""
Silence.
Then a whisper.
"Please don't ask me to do that.""
My heart stopped.
"Margaret?""
"Mrs. Moretti, I can't.""
"Why?""
She began crying.
"Because Mr. Vincent told me never to let anyone else see the ingredients.""
I gripped the phone.
"What ingredients?""
"I don't know, ma'am. He brings the packets himself.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Vincent brings them?""
"Yes.""
"How long has he been doing that?""
"Since last winter.""
I closed my eyes.
Last winter.
That was when my cough had started.
"Margaret, listen to me. I need you to get one of those packets.""
"I can't. He checks the cabinet.""
"Please.""
She was silent for several seconds.
Then she whispered, "There is something else.""
My heart began racing.
"What?""
"Last night, I heard him talking to Miss Reynolds in the study.""
I waited.
"He said you wouldn't be a problem much longer.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"What exactly did he say?""
Margaret started crying harder.
"He said the house would finally belong to the people it was meant for.""
I swallowed painfully.
"Did he say anything about my health?""
A long silence followed.
Then Margaret said something that made my blood turn to ice.
"He said the treatment was taking longer than expected.""
The call disconnected.
I stared at my phone.
Treatment.
Not illness.
Not recovery.
Treatment.
Someone had been doing something to me.
And Vincent knew about it.
I immediately called Dr. Hayes.
She returned within minutes.
I told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she closed the door and pulled the visitor's chair closer.
"Claire, I want you to remain calm. We need to handle this carefully.""
I shook my head.
"How can I remain calm when my own husband might be responsible?""
"We don't know that yet.""
"But I know what I heard.""
"I believe you. That's why we're going to preserve every message and document every statement.""
She reached for the phone.
"I'll also contact hospital security. No one will be allowed to access your medical records without proper authorization.""
I nodded.
Then the door opened.
A familiar voice filled the room.
"Claire.""
Vincent.
He stood in the doorway wearing a black cashmere coat.
His hair was perfectly arranged.
His Rolex gleamed beneath the hospital lights.
Behind him stood two bodyguards.
For the first time in five years, I didn't feel relieved to see my husband.
I felt afraid.
He glanced at Dr. Hayes.
"I'd like a moment alone with my wife.""
Dr. Hayes didn't move.
"Mr. Moretti, she's still receiving treatment.""
"I'm aware.""
"Then you understand that unnecessary stress isn't advisable.""
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"Doctor, I own this hospital.""
"And I am responsible for her medical care.""
The room became very quiet.
I had never heard anyone speak to Vincent that way.
He looked at Dr. Hayes for several seconds.
Then he turned toward me.
"Claire. We need to talk.""
I pulled the blanket closer.
"About what?""
His eyes moved to the oxygen equipment.
"You've caused quite a commotion.""
I stared at him.
"Apparently, collapsing in your hospital is inconvenient.""
His expression hardened.
"Don't start.""
"Start what?""
"Whatever little performance you're planning.""
Dr. Hayes stepped forward.
"Mr. Moretti, I think this conversation should wait.""
Vincent ignored her.
He approached my bed and placed a document on the table.
"Sign this.""
I looked down.
It was a legal authorization granting him unrestricted access to my medical records and decisions concerning my ongoing treatment.
My fingers went cold.
"Why?""
"Because you're clearly not in a position to manage things yourself.""
I looked at him.
"Are you worried about me, Vincent?""
He exhaled impatiently.
"Don't make this difficult.""
I picked up the document.
The signature line waited at the bottom.
Then I noticed something.
The date.
The document had been prepared three days earlier.
Three days before I collapsed.
I slowly lifted my eyes.
"You prepared this before I came to the hospital?""
Vincent's expression barely changed.
"It's a standard precaution.""
"How did you know I would need it?""
His eyes narrowed.
"Claire.""
I placed the document back on the table.
"I'm not signing anything.""
For the first time, his calm expression cracked.
"You're my wife.""
"And you're the man who told me to wait my turn while I couldn't breathe.""
He leaned closer.
His voice dropped.
"Be careful what you accuse me of.""
I looked directly into his eyes.
"Then perhaps you should be careful what you put in my tea.""
The silence was absolute.
His face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
The flicker of recognition.
The tightening around his eyes.
And then he smiled.
A cold, unfamiliar smile.
"Who have you been talking to, Claire?""
Before I could answer, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
The name displayed there made my stomach twist.
*RICHARD MORETTI.*
Vincent immediately turned away.
He answered.
"Father?""
My heart stopped.
He listened for several seconds.
Then his voice dropped.
"She's still alive.""
A pause.
His eyes moved toward me.
"Yes. I know.""
Another pause.
Then he said the words that would change everything.
"No, Father. I haven't told her you're alive yet.""
He ended the call.
I couldn't move.
Vincent slowly slipped his phone into his pocket.
Then he looked at me.
And for the first time in our marriage, I saw something close to fear in his eyes.
May you like
"Claire," he said quietly.
"You were never supposed to find out.""
