Chapter 2 - THE PHARMACY RECORD
The sound of Camille’s high heels clicking away across the polished marble floor echoed long after she disappeared toward the grand staircase.
Nico remained on the floor. For a terrifying second, his broad shoulders slumped, not from weakness, but from the crushing weight of humiliation that he refused to let anyone see. I knelt beside him immediately, ignoring the stares of the remaining guests who were whispering behind gloved hands and designer lapels.
“Don’t touch me,” he muttered, his voice rough and low, vibrating with a fierce, humiliated pride.
“I’m not trying to lift you, Mr. Alfieri,” I said calmly, reaching out to steady his elbow as he dragged himself toward the mahogany console table. “I’m making sure you don't pull your shoulder out of its socket trying to prove a point to people who aren't worth the breath.”
He stopped. His dark eyes darted up, sharp as broken glass, assessing whether I was pitying him. When he found only steady professional focus, his jaw tightened. With a sudden burst of upper-body strength, he hoisted himself back into the custom wheelchair that one of his silent guards hurried over to place behind him.
The thirty guests dispersed like scattering birds, leaving only Uncle Sal—a heavy-set man in his sixties with tired eyes and a gold signet ring—standing near the doorway. Sal looked at Nico, then at me, shaking his head slowly.
“You’ve got a sharp tongue, nurse,” Sal said, his voice gravelly and measured. “Camille is high-strung, but wedding stress does strange things to people.”
“Abuse isn’t wedding stress, Mr. Alfieri,” I replied, standing up and smoothing my scrubs. “And if anyone else in this house touches him like that again, they’ll have to answer to me before they answer to him.”
Nico didn’t say a word as Sal turned and walked away down the dimly lit hallway. But as the heavy oak doors closed behind his uncle, Nico looked down at his trembling hands resting flat on his knees.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured. “Camille’s father holds half the commercial leases on the north side. My family needs that merger to keep the shipping warehouses out of receivership after the accident.”
“Your family can build warehouses somewhere else,” I said quietly, leaning down to pick up the plastic medication cup and the specimen bag I had dropped earlier. “They can’t buy another spine, and they certainly can’t buy your dignity back if you let her treat you like broken furniture.”
Nico’s head snapped up. For the first time since I had walked through the iron gates of the estate, the hard, defensive armor around his eyes cracked. He didn't answer. He simply wheeled himself toward the private elevator without another word.
Thirty minutes later, I stood in the small second-floor nursing station adjacent to his bedroom. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I pulled the specimen bag out of my deep scrub pocket—the one containing the two pills I had swapped out from his evening dose three days ago.
I unlocked the medicine cabinet above the counter. The metal latch clicked softly. I reached for the digital pharmacy inventory scanner on the wall and swiped the barcode of the blue bottle labeled for nerve pain.
The screen flashed red.
Error: Lot mismatch. NDC code does not match patient profile.
My breath caught. It wasn't a doctor’s clerical error. The pills inside were completely different chemical compounds than what was prescribed—ones designed to induce lethargy, muscle weakness, and profound cognitive fog. Someone inside this house was systematically keeping Nico paralyzed long after his physical therapy should have allowed him to stand with crutches.
Before I could print the verification log, a soft knock tapped against the half-open door.
I spun around.
May you like
Standing in the doorway, holding a silver tray with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, was Edna Hollis, the head housekeeper. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing red screen of the inventory scanner in my hand.
“You’re up late, Adeline,” Edna said, her voice completely devoid of expression. “And the pharmacy inventory system hasn’t been connected to the main server in six months.”
