Chapter 3
PART 3:
The first night, the man in the black suit met Fiona at the stairs.
He was Arthur’s uncle.
Not his father, but close enough to control every door, every hallway, every staff member, every visitor.
His face was handsome in a hard way.
But his eyes never warmed.
“You are here to give medication,” he said. “Nothing else.”
Fiona looked at him calmly.
“I’m here to keep Arthur alive.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is what I said.”
Inside Arthur’s bedroom, everything looked perfect.
Too perfect.
White sheets.
Silver-framed family photos.
Expensive toys untouched in the corner.
A humidifier running beside the bed.
A tray of medicine arranged with military precision.
And Arthur, small and pale beneath the blankets, staring at Fiona like he had already learned adults were dangerous.
She smiled gently.
“Hi, Arthur. I’m Fiona.”
He did not answer.
His eyes moved to the door.
The uncle stood there watching.
So Fiona did not push.
She checked Arthur’s pulse.
His temperature.
His breathing.
She noticed three things immediately.
His symptoms got worse at night.
His fever spiked after he lay down.
And he flinched every time someone adjusted the pillows behind his head.
The house staff said Arthur was sensitive.
The uncle said he was dramatic.
The old doctor said nothing.
But his eyes followed Fiona’s hands.
By the third night, Fiona began keeping notes.
Not on the family’s paper chart.
Her own.
Arthur’s fever rose around midnight.
His neck marks darkened by morning.
The pillow behind his head smelled faintly sour, almost chemical, but only when warmed by his body.
When Fiona tried to change the bedding, the uncle stopped her.
“Those pillows stay.”
She looked up.
“Why?”
“They help his neck.”
“They’re making him worse.”
The room changed.
The uncle stepped closer.
“You have been here three days.”
Fiona did not move.
“And he has been sick for months.”
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Arthur watched them from the bed, silent and scared.
👉 But when Fiona asked the laundry staff about Arthur’s bedding, one terrified maid confirmed her worst suspicion…
