Victor didn’t have an answer. He watched through the window as Clara read to Luke in the garden.
The boy’s head was resting on her shoulder. Something in Victor’s chest, something he thought had died decades ago, gave a painful stir. When was the last time he’d held his son like that? When was the last time Luke had looked at him without fear? “One more time,” Luke demanded, bouncing on his bed despite the nurse’s protests.
“Tell me the story again!” Clara laughed, exhausted but unable to say no. “Luke, I’ve told you the story of the Grumpy Bear three times. But I like the way you do the voices.”
He grabbed her hand. “Please, Clara.” She couldn’t say no to those eyes.
As she retold the ending, making exaggerated bear growls that had Luke in stitches, she didn’t notice Victor standing in the doorway. He’d been there for fifteen minutes, just watching. His son, a quiet, anxious boy who flinched at loud noises and rarely smiled, was transformed around this woman.
Luke was glowing, joking, playing. For the first time Victor could remember, he was just a normal nine-year-old boy. And it was tearing Victor apart inside.
Victor Roman had built an empire on fear and respect. He removed people who didn’t fall in line. He crushed his rivals without mercy.
But seeing a homeless woman give his son the one thing he never could—simple, unconditional love—made him feel more helpless than any enemy ever had. “Boss.” Victor turned to find Tony behind him, holding a folder.
“Background check on Clara Bell,” Tony said quietly. “Is it all there?” Victor took the folder but didn’t open it.
“It’s clean. Everything she told you was true. She was a trauma nurse who exposed a black-market organ ring.
She lost everything because of it. No criminal record, no suspicious contacts. Her daughter, Emily, lives in Seattle.
They haven’t spoken in three years. Her ex-husband remarried.” Tony paused.
“Mr. Roman, she’s exactly what she looks like. Someone who lost everything trying to do the right thing.” Victor nodded slowly.
He’d expected as much, but the confirmation settled something in him. “There’s something else,” Tony continued, lowering his voice. “I checked the kitchen staff, the security detail, everyone who had access to Luke’s meds.
I found something strange.” “What?” “Three weeks before Luke got sick, someone ordered a specific batch of compounds to the estate. It came through our offshore supplier, the one we use for untraceable security equipment.”
Victor’s jaw tightened. “Who placed the order?” “That’s the thing, Boss. The order was placed using Frank’s credentials.
But when I asked Frank about it, he said he never made any order. He said someone must have used his login.” The silence that followed was heavy.
“Keep digging,” Victor said. “And Tony, don’t mention this to anyone, especially not Frank.” That night, Victor found Clara sitting alone in the kitchen, long after everyone else had gone to bed.
She was eating leftover pasta straight from a container, looking more exhausted than ever. “Is he asleep?” Victor asked. Clara jumped, nearly dropping her fork.
“Yes, finally. It took four stories and a promise that I’d be there when he woke up.” Victor poured himself a glass of water and sat across from her.
For a while, neither of them spoke. “Thank you,” he said finally. Clara looked up, surprised.
“For what?” “For giving my son his childhood back. Even if it’s just for a little while.” Victor’s voice was husky.
“I built this life to give him everything. Security, wealth, power. But I never gave him what you do.”
“Peace. He loves you,” Clara said softly. “He talks about you all the time.
About how strong you are, how everyone respects you. He wants you to be proud of him. He just wants to be happy, too.”
Victor gripped his glass. “When you stopped that funeral, you didn’t just save his life. You saved something I didn’t know was still alive in this house.”
Clara reached across the table and gave his hand a brief squeeze. A gesture of comfort, nothing more. But it was the first genuine human contact Victor had felt in years.
“He’s a good boy, Victor. Whatever happens, don’t let this world take that away from him.” Victor nodded, but before he could respond, his phone buzzed.
A message from Mark, his head of security. “I found something. I need to talk to you.
Now. It’s about the medication.” Victor stood up abruptly.
“Get some rest, Clara. Tomorrow might be a long day.” As he walked away, Clara felt the temperature in the room drop.
She didn’t know what message he’d received. But she was certain of one thing. The calm was over.
The storm was about to break. Clara woke up at 3:00 AM to the sound of Luke coughing. She’d been sleeping in the armchair next to his bed, as she had every night since they’d returned from the hospital.
The boy’s cough was wet, labored—different from his usual asthma flare-ups. Clara touched Luke’s forehead. He was burning up.
Clara went to press the call button, but something stopped her. On the nightstand sat Luke’s evening pills, which the nurse had brought in at 6:00 PM. The pills were still there, untouched in the little paper cup.
But the bottle of liquid asthma medication was half-empty. Clara’s blood ran cold. She’d seen Luke reject all medicine before bed, insisting he felt fine.
He’d fallen asleep without taking anything. So who had given him the liquid medication? She picked up the bottle and held it to the nightlight. The consistency was wrong—thicker than it should be, and there was a faint, fine sediment at the bottom that hadn’t been there before.
Her medical training kicked in instantly. She checked Luke’s pupils—they were dilated, his pulse rapid, his breathing shallow and fast. These weren’t asthma symptoms; this was poisoning.
“Security!” Clara’s voice cut through the night. “I need help in here right now!”
Two men burst through the door, weapons drawn. They found Clara holding Luke, whose lips were starting to turn blue. “Call an ambulance!” she ordered. “And get Mr. Roman. He’s been poisoned again.”
Thirty minutes later, the estate was in chaos. Paramedics were treating Luke in his room while Victor stood by, his face a mask of barely contained fury. Mary was sobbing in the corner, and Clara stood by the window, clutching the medication bottle like a piece of evidence.
“What happened?”
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