Chapter 1 - The Slap
The slap cracked through the marble foyer so hard that Hannah Reed dropped the medication tray.
Nicholas Valenti was already on the floor.
His wheelchair lay on its side three feet away, one chrome wheel still spinning. Claire Whitmore stood over him in a silver evening gown, breathing hard, one hand raised again.
Hannah crossed the room before she had time to think.
She caught Claire's wrist.
"Take your hand off me," Claire said.
"No."
For one stunned second, neither woman moved.
Nicholas lifted his head. Blood marked the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were steady.
"Hannah," he said quietly. "Let her go."
Hannah released Claire only after stepping between them.
Ten minutes earlier, Claire had been smiling beside Nicholas for photographers. Now she looked afraid.
"He tried to grab me," Claire said quickly. "He fell and blamed me."
Nicholas almost laughed.
"My legs don't work, Claire."
"Your arms do."
Hannah looked at the overturned wheelchair, then at the bruise already forming across Nicholas's cheek.
For nine weeks, Hannah had watched his strength fade when it should have been returning. She had quietly saved two suspicious tablets, photographed the bottle, and logged the nights his worst episodes followed Claire's evening dose.
Claire saw Hannah looking toward the fallen tray.
Her expression sharpened.
"What are you staring at?"
Hannah bent and picked up the bottle.
"Something I should have checked sooner."
Claire's face changed.
Nicholas noticed.
"Hannah," he said. "What did you find?"
She looked at him, then at the woman he was supposed to marry in six weeks.
"I think someone has been making you sick."
The foyer went silent.
May you like
Claire took one slow step backward.
And Nicholas finally understood why his fiancee had been so desperate to keep Hannah from talking to his doctor alone.
