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“Until now.” He leaned forward. “We could accomplish great things together, Elara. Your research, my resources.”
Our conversation paused as we arrived at an exclusive restaurant overlooking the city. Arthur guided me inside with a light touch at the small of my back, sending an
unexpected warmth through me.
The way she emphasized “husband” made Fiona’s nostrils flare with irritation. I hid my smile and excused myself, heading upstairs to change quickly.
“Father,” Fiona said, latching onto his arm. “The doctor said Caleb’s medicine was better. She’s just trying to hurt Mother!”
“Excuse me,” I murmured, stepping into the hallway to take the call. “Hello?”
“Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “That was… unexpected.”
We lapsed into comfortable silence as the car pulled up to the mansion. Arthur walked me to the door, his hand brushing mine in what might have been an accident.
If only she knew. I bit back a smile, thinking of my lab, my research, my publications under another name.
I quickly tucked the phone away, but not before Arthur noticed.
“You just saw it work,” I pointed out.
There was a brief silence. “Is she stable now?”
The doctor approached cautiously and checked Beatrice’s vitals. His eyebrows shot up. “Her oxygen levels are… remarkably improved. May I examine this medication?”
“You’re a puzzle, Elara Dubois.”
“Hello, Fiona,” I said calmly, mind racing. “I suppose we have something to discuss.”
“Mrs. Dubois!” I pushed past/Alistair, who stood frozen in the doorway.
Arthur clearly didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press. We finished dinner and returned to the car, the conversation turning to lighter topics. As we neared the Dubois
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mansion, Arthur surprised me by asking, “Would you like to see my grandmother tomorrow? She’s been asking for you.”
“Where did you get this?” Alistair asked, his voice tight with suspicion.
“Please,” I pleaded, meeting Alistair’s cold gaze. “You’re killing her.”
Alistair and Fiona stared in disbelief. The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you ready?” Arthur’s deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “The car will be there in fifteen minutes.””
I didn’t wait for permission. I rushed to the nightstand where I’d left my medicine and fumbled with the bottle. My fingers trembled as I shook out a tablet.
“I’ll send the car at ten.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you for helping her that day. Few people would have bothered.”
“What exactly is in this medicine?” Alistair demanded, snatching the bottle from my hand.
“Actually,” the doctor interrupted, “Mrs. Dubois appears to be stable. Whatever that medication is, it’s working remarkably well.”
“Yes, thanks to my
medicine.”
Arthur’s gaze was penetrating. “You enjoy being underestimated.”
“Interesting,” he said when I finished. “So you’ve been moonlighting as a pharmaceutical researcher.”
Alistair stepped between me and Beatrice. “Get away from my wife with that poison.”
Beatrice’s wheezing grew more desperate. She clawed at her throat, eyes wide with panic.
“Elara?” a voice gasped. A familiar voice–Fiona’s.
“She reminds me of someone,” I admitted. “Someone who showed me kindness when
no one else did.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I snapped, dodging her grasp. “It was stopping my treatment that triggered this attack.”
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“You? Developed it?” Fiona scoffed, but there was uncertainty in her eyes now.
“Enough!” Beatrice managed to gasp between coughs. She reached a trembling hand.
toward me. “Give… me…”
I ended the call and returned to find Beatrice sitting up in bed, looking more alert than I’d seen her in weeks.
The offer was tempting. More than tempting. But years of self–reliance made me hesitate. “What exactly are you proposing?”
I nodded. “He’s waiting for me.”
His eyes narrowed. “How many identities do you maintain, exactly?”
That was all the permission I needed. I slipped past Alistair and pressed the tablet into Beatrice’s palm. She swallowed it dry, closing her eyes as another coughing fit wracked her body.
For several agonizing seconds, nothing changed. The room fell silent except for Beatrice’s labored breathing. Then, gradually, the terrible wheezing subsided. Color returned to her cheeks. Her breathing steadied.
The doctor looked between us, clearly conflicted. “Mr. Dubois, perhaps we should—”
Twenty minutes later, I slid into the backseat of a sleek black car. Arthur was waiting, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.
My blood ran cold. How had she gotten this number? More importantly, what was I going to do now that she knew?
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated with a text. I glanced down to see a
message from an unknown number: *Need money. Meet me tomorrow or your secret goes public. -Uncle G*
I shrugged. “Enough.”
I rolled my eyes. “Such flattery will go
to my
head.”
“Dr. Wilson speaking,” I answered professionally.
I’d forgotten our dinner engagement completely. “I’m sorry, there’s been a situation with Mrs. Dubois. She had a severe breathing attack.”
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“You look…” His eyes traveled over my simple blue dress. “…acceptable.”
Over dinner, we discussed business–my company’s IPO, his interest in my research, the potential for collaboration. It was refreshing to speak openly about my work
without hiding my expertise.
Alistair frowned. “I want to know more about this medicine. Where it came from, who approved it-”
Beatrice was hunched over, face turning an alarming shade of blue as she struggled for air. The family doctor hovered helplessly beside her, patting her back as if that would somehow help her breathe.
On the other end of the line, I heard what sounded like a phone dropping, followed by a strangled sob.
“Why keep your achievements secret?” he asked as we shared dessert. “You’ve accomplished more than most people twice your age.”
“Your medicine,” he repeated, a note of curiosity in his voice. “We definitely need to talk, Elara. I’ll have the driver wait. Join me when you can.”
“I don’t think-” Fiona began.
“Goodnight, Elara.”
“Then you should go.” She waved away my protest before I could voice it. “I’m fine now. Better than fine.”
“Problem?”
“Hello?” I prompted. “This is Dr. Wilson.”
“Do something!” Genevieve shrieked at the doctor.
“Later,” Beatrice said firmly. “Elara has an appointment with her husband.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Tell me about this medicine of yours.”
But even she didn’t sound convinced. The evidence was too clear–Beatrice was breathing normally for the first time in months.
“Don’t you dare!” Fiona darted forward, trying to snatch the medicine from my hand. “That’s what made her worse in the first place!”
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There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, then silence.
I traced patterns in the condensation on my water glass. “In my experience, people underestimate what they don’t understand. And they fear what they can’t control.”
The request seemed genuine, touching something in me I hadn’t expected. “I’d like
that.”
“A coincidence,” Genevieve insisted from the doorway. “She was already improving when Elara gave her that pill.”
“Was that Arthur?” she asked with a knowing smile.
I straightened my spine. “A proprietary blend of respiratory support compounds. I developed it specifically for Mrs. Dubois’s condition.”
“It’s served me well.”
“Among other things.”
I nodded, though I knew he wouldn’t be able to determine its composition without proper analysis. I’d spent years perfecting the formula, testing it countless times before offering it to Beatrice.
“That’s impossible,” Fiona snapped. “You don’t have the education or resources for pharmaceutical development.”
I raced down the stairs, heart hammering against my ribs. The sound of Beatrice’s choking cough echoed through the mansion, each gasping breath like a knife in my chest. By the time I reached her bedroom door, a small crowd had already formed.
When she finally looked up, the relief in her eyes was unmistakable. She took a deep, clear breath–the first I’d heard from her in years–and said softly, “Thank you, Elara.”
The tension in the room was broken by my phone ringing. I glanced at the screen-
Arthur.
“I prefer to think of myself as cautious.”
Beatrice reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Elara has always been brilliant. I’ve told you this for years, but you never listen.”
“Apparently,” Beatrice said quietly, “there’s a great deal about Elara that we don’t know.”
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“A partnership. Genuine this time, not just on paper.”
“I told you. I developed it.”
Alistair examined the bottle with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t labeled. How do we know
it’s safe?”
“Nothing important,” I lied smoothly: “Just my uncle being his usual charming self.”
Back in my room, I changed into comfortable clothes and was about to review some research when my secure phone–the one I used for my Dr. Wilson identity–rang unexpectedly. Only five people had this number, and none of them would call this late without good reason.
As the car pulled away from the mansion, I explained the basics of the formula, careful not to reveal too much. Arthur listened intently, asking occasional questions that betrayed a deeper understanding of biochemistry than I’d expected.
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