Chapter 4 - The Gala Setup
Thursday passed in a blur of mounting tension. The estate was overrun by event planners, florists, and caterers preparing for the high-profile charity gala. Ethan strutted through the halls like a peacock who had already claimed the throne, while Chloe spent hours fussing over her designer gown in front of the master bathroom mirror.
Eleanor visited Richard’s room twice, bringing a cup of sedative-laced herbal tea that she insisted he drink.
The moment she left the room, Richard poured the tea into a potted fern by the window.
“They’ve been drugging my evening water with mild sedatives for months,” Richard explained quietly as I checked his vital signs. “It keeps my reflexes sluggish and makes my supposed muscle weakness look authentic to any visiting doctor Ethan happens to hire.”
“It’s monstrous,” I muttered, adjusting his blanket.
“It’s business, in their eyes,” Richard replied coldly. “Power corrupts absolute logic. They stopped seeing me as a brother and a son the moment I stood in the way of their ambition.”
By Friday evening, the estate was practically empty. The security guards hired by Ethan were stationed outside the perimeter gates to manage arriving limousines, and the family had departed for the country club an hour earlier, leaving Richard and me behind under the watch of a single junior guard named Kyle, who spent most of his time scrolling through sports apps in the ground-floor pantry.
Upstairs in the master suite, the transformation was underway.
Richard stood up from the wheelchair for the first time in eight months. His legs trembled slightly from muscular atrophy, but his core strength was remarkably intact. He leaned against the edge of the mahogany dresser, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Careful,” I said, rushing over to support his right arm. “Your muscles are still recovering from the disuse. Don't push too hard.”
“I’ve spent eight months sitting in that chair, Maya,” Richard gritted out through clenched teeth, a fierce determination flashing in his eyes. “I can handle a few minutes on my feet.”
He dressed quickly in a custom-tailored charcoal tuxedo that had been hidden in the back of his walk-in closet—a suit that still fit him perfectly. He looked every bit the ruthless, formidable CEO of Vitalis Health.
I looked down at my own attire: a simple, elegant navy blue evening dress I had brought with me, intending to wear it only if I ever attended a normal social function outside the estate.
Richard stopped, looking at me with a rare, appreciative smile. “You look stunning, Maya. Not that you ever looked anything less, even in scrubs.”
I felt a warm flush rise to my cheeks—a sensation I hadn't felt in over a decade, not since Miguel used to compliment me before our lives became a monotonous trap of domesticity.
“Save the charm for the board members, Mr. Vance,” I murmured, though I couldn't suppress a small smile.
“Richard,” he corrected gently. “Tonight, there are no titles.”
May you like
We slipped out of the side service exit of the estate just as the midnight fog began to roll in off the lake. Richard’s personal vintage Jaguar—kept hidden in the detached carriage house where Ethan hadn't thought to look—purred to life with a low, deep growl.
As we drove toward the Winnetka Country Club, my heart raced with a mix of adrenaline and terrifying anticipation. We were walking straight into the lion’s den.
