PART 2: The Secret Behind the Blinds

“Light sensitivity?”

I asked.

He kept his eyes closed.

“Among other things.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you never asked.”

“I asked what your pain level was.”

“You asked me to assign a number to something you couldn’t understand.”

I studied him in the dimness.

“Try me.”

His eyes opened slowly.

They were still icy blue, but the usual coldness had disappeared.

“Some pain is measured by numbers,” he said.

“Some pain is measured by what you’re willing to remember.”

I had no answer for that.

Outside the room, footsteps passed in the hallway.

They stopped briefly, then continued.

“Did Leo tell you what happened?”

I asked.

“No.”

“Did any of the nurses?”

“No one stayed long enough to ask.”

“Maybe they were afraid of you.”

“Maybe they were wise.”

I picked up the medication chart from the bedside table.

“You have a concussion, a fractured leg, two broken ribs, and a wound that nearly became septic.

Light sensitivity can be a neurological symptom.

So can confusion, irritability, and memory problems.”

“I’m not confused.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking you’re determined to make my job difficult.”

A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth.

“That’s more accurate.”

I checked his pulse and temperature, then examined the dressing on his abdomen.

The bleeding had slowed, and the swelling around the wound looked less angry than it had the night before.

“You’re improving,” I said.

“Disappointing.”

“You’re welcome.”

The corner of his mouth moved again, almost a smile.

It vanished before I could be sure.

I changed the dressing in silence.

Liam endured it without grabbing my wrist or telling me to leave.

When I finished, I disposed of the supplies and returned to the chair beside the window.

“You can read somewhere else,” he said.

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

“I’m beginning to suspect that’s why you hired me.”

“I didn’t hire you.”

“Someone did.”

“Not me.”

I looked up from my book.

“Then who did?”

His expression closed.

There it was again—that invisible door he kept between himself and the rest of the world.

I had begun to recognize the sound of it shutting.

I decided not to push.

Not yet.

That evening, Leo brought a tray of food and set it on the table.

“Eat,” he told Liam.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I was still not hungry.”

Leo turned to me.

“Make sure he eats half.”

“Why me?”

“Because he listens to you.”

Liam gave him a look.

Leo raised both hands.

“Fine.

He listens to you more than he listens to anyone else.”

“I don’t listen,” Liam said.

“You swallowed every pill she gave you today.”

“That’s different.”

“And you let her inspect your wound.”

“Also different.”

“And you didn’t throw anything.”

“That required energy.”

Leo looked at me.

“See?

Progress.”

I tried not to smile.

Leo pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket and handed it to me.

“Your brother’s hospital called.”

My stomach tightened.

I snatched the paper from his hand.

The message was brief.

Tommy’s oncologist wanted to speak with me regarding his latest bloodwork and the clinical trial.

My knees weakened so suddenly I had to sit.

“Is he worse?”

“They didn’t say.”

“They never say anything in a message.”

“I can arrange a call.”

“My phone is downstairs.”

“I’ll bring it.”

“No phones,” Liam said.

His voice was quiet, but the command in it filled the room.

I turned toward him.

“My brother is sick.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to make exceptions for your rules when they concern your comfort and then expect me to ignore my family.”

His expression changed.

Not anger.

Something closer to regret.

“Use the house phone,” he said.

“There’s a house phone?”

“In the library.”

Leo nodded.

“I’ll show you.”

I stood, already moving toward the door.

“Wait,” Liam said.

I stopped.

He stared at the blanket rather than at me.

“Take the call in private.”

“I planned to.”

“Not because of the rule.”

I waited.

“Because you shouldn’t have to discuss your brother in front of strangers.”

For a moment, I saw the man beneath the reputation.

The one who noticed things despite pretending not to.

“Thank you,” I said.

His gaze lifted to mine.

It was the first time he had looked at me without suspicion.

Then I left.

The library occupied the west side of the mansion and smelled of old paper, cedar, and dust.

Leo led me to a mahogany desk where an old-fashioned telephone sat beside a brass lamp.

“Dial nine first,” he said.

“Then the number.”

“Why can’t I use a cell phone?”

“Mr.

Mercer prefers the house to remain secure.”

“From what?”

Leo’s face became guarded.

“From people who don’t need to know where he is.”

“That sounds like an answer designed to avoid answering.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

“You’ve worked for him a long time?”

“Long enough.”

“Were you here when he was injured?”

Leo looked through the library’s tall windows toward the dark grounds.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“An accident.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“Because that’s what happened.”

I studied his face.

He was not lying exactly.

But he was leaving something out.

The telephone rang before I could ask more.

I grabbed the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Is this Claire?”

The voice belonged to Dr.

Patel, Tommy’s oncologist.

I pressed my free hand against my stomach.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to call you at a strange hour.”

“It’s all right.

How is he?”

There was a pause long enough to frighten me.

“His latest results show that the disease is progressing.”

The room seemed to contract around me.

I gripped the edge of the desk.

“But he’s still eligible for the trial, right?”

“We’re reviewing that.”

“You said the trial could work even if standard treatment stopped.”

“It may.

But his current blood counts are lower than we’d hoped.”

“Can he still receive the treatment?”

“We need additional testing.

There are also financial requirements that must be met before the hospital can reserve a place.”

My throat tightened.

“How much?”

“Your previous estimate was correct.

Around two hundred thousand dollars for the first phase, not including travel and supportive care.”

I closed my eyes.

Two hundred thousand dollars.

Even if I worked every week for a year, I couldn’t cover it.

And I couldn’t stay at the mansion forever.

The thought of returning home with nothing but my first envelope of cash suddenly felt unbearable.

“What if I can pay the deposit?”

I asked.

“Then we can move faster.”

“How fast?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

I stared at the old Persian rug beneath my feet.

“I’ll find it.”

“Claire—”

“I’ll find it.”

After we hung up, I stayed with the receiver pressed to my ear.

The silence hummed.

I had told Dr.

Patel I would find the money because saying anything else would have sounded like giving up.

A soft knock came from the open door.

Leo stood there.

“You heard?”

“No.”

I looked at him.

He didn’t pretend very well.

“Please don’t tell Liam.”

“I don’t discuss your family with him.”

“Good.”

But Leo didn’t leave.

“Claire, I know what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“You’re thinking that ten thousand dollars a week isn’t enough.”

I folded my arms.

“It’s more than I’ve ever earned.”

“It is.”

“And yet it won’t be enough.”

“No.”

The honesty startled me.

“Then why bring me here?”

“Because you need the money.”

“That doesn’t explain why this place needs me.”

Leo’s eyes shifted toward the hallway.

“Perhaps it does.”

“Does Liam know about Tommy?”

He took too long to answer.

“I don’t know.”

“That means yes.”

“It means I don’t know.”

“You’re not very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Pretending there aren’t secrets in every room.”

A sad expression crossed his face.

“There are secrets in every family.”

“Is that what this is?

A family?”

“Sometimes.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he walked away.

I returned to Liam’s room twenty minutes later.

He was awake, staring at the ceiling.

“You took a long time,” he said.

“Were you counting?”

“I was awake.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“Did your brother get bad news?”

I stopped just inside the door.

Leo had promised.

Apparently, promises in this house were as fragile as glass.

“Did you ask him?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I heard your voice when you returned.”

I set my hand on the back of the chair.

“His condition is getting worse.”

Liam’s jaw tightened.

“He needs a clinical trial.”

“Yes.”

“You need money.”

I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Plenty.”

“How much do you know?”

“Enough to understand why you accepted this job.”

I glanced at the envelope of cash on the dresser.

I hadn’t opened it yet.

“Did you hire me because of Tommy?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

I believed him.

That frightened me more than if he had admitted it.

“Then why?”

His eyes moved toward the closed blinds.

“I didn’t.”

“Who did?”

He didn’t answer.

I crossed the room and stood beside his bed.

“You know what your problem is?”

“I imagine you’re about to tell me.”

“You think silence gives you control.”

“It often does.”

“No.

It gives other people permission to invent their own answers.”

“Perhaps I prefer their answers to the truth.”

“Maybe the truth is less dangerous than you think.”

His expression hardened.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“I was driving home from the city,” he said finally.

“It was raining.

A truck crossed the center line.”

I listened.

“There were no assassins.

No betrayal.

No dramatic ambush.

Just a wet road, a bad turn, and a driver who didn’t make it.”

“And your injuries?”

“The truck hit the passenger side.

I was alone.”

“Why does everyone act as if you were attacked?”

“Because people prefer a story that matches the man they think I am.”

There was weariness in his voice now.

“What kind of man do they think you are?”

“The kind who invites trouble.”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

I sat down.

“And the blinds?”

His gaze moved toward the window.

“When the accident happened, the sun was rising.”

I waited.

“I woke in the hospital three days later.

Every time I opened my eyes, the light made me believe I was still on the road.

I could hear the glass.

Smell the rain.

Feel the car turning.”

His hand curled against the sheet.

“The doctors said the memories would fade.”

“Did they?”

“No.”

I softened.

“So the dark helps.”

“The dark gives me a choice.”

That sentence stayed with me.

For the first time, I understood why he hated being helpless.

He had spent days trapped inside a body that couldn’t move, unable to escape memories that arrived without permission.

The blinds were the one thing he could control.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He looked almost uncomfortable with the sympathy.

“Don’t be.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me feel like a person.”

I frowned.

“That’s supposed to be a bad thing?”

“For some people, yes.”

I wanted to ask who had taught him that.

Instead, I reached for the water glass and held it out.

He accepted it.

His fingers brushed mine.

The contact was brief, ordinary, and somehow more intimate than the dozens of times I had cleaned his wounds.

He drank half the glass.

“Good,” I said.

“Don’t sound so proud.”

“I’m proud of anyone who manages basic hydration.”

A real smile appeared then—small, reluctant, and gone almost immediately.

But I had seen it.

The next morning, the house felt different.

Not warmer, exactly.

Just less watchful.

Leo brought my breakfast to the kitchen rather than sending it upstairs.

The cook, a quiet woman named Mara, placed eggs and toast in front of me without asking whether I wanted them.

“You’re the first nurse who came down here,” she said.

“I’m the first nurse who was hungry enough.”

She smiled.

“Mr.

Mercer used to eat breakfast in this room.”

“What happened?”

“He stopped.”

“After the accident?”

“Before.”

I looked up.

Mara’s smile faded.

“Why?”

She wiped an already clean counter.

“Some things are not mine to explain.”

“Does anyone in this house answer a direct question?”

“Not unless they’ve been dead for fifty years.”

I laughed despite myself.

Mara lowered her voice.

“Don’t let him frighten you.”

“He hasn’t.”

“That’s because you don’t see him as everyone else does.”

“How does everyone else see him?”

“As a locked door.”

“And what do you see?”

“A tired man who forgot where he left the key.”

Before I could respond, Leo entered.

“Claire, there’s a delivery for you.”

“A delivery?”

He handed me a small cardboard box.

My name was written across the top in black ink.

There was no return address.

I opened it carefully.

Inside lay three sealed envelopes, a new pair of comfortable shoes, and a note.

You’ll need these if you intend to stay.

I stared at the words.

“Who sent it?”

Leo shook his head.

“Did Liam?”

“No.”

That answer made the room colder.

I picked up the first envelope.

It contained a bank receipt showing a deposit of ten thousand dollars into an account I didn’t recognize.

The second held a copy of my employment agreement.

The third was sealed with dark blue wax.

My name was written on the front.

I looked at Leo.

“Should I open this?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re prepared to know why you were chosen.”

He walked out before I could stop him.

I carried the envelope upstairs.

Liam was asleep when I entered his room, one hand resting beside the pain medication.

I stood near the bed, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

For the first time, he looked younger than his thirty-six years.

Not gentle.

Not innocent.

Just tired.

I set the envelope on the desk.

Then I noticed the drawer beneath it was slightly open.

I knew I should leave it alone.

Instead, I pulled it farther.

Inside were medical records, insurance forms, and several folders tied with string.

The top folder bore Liam’s name.

Beneath it was a thick white envelope from St.

Catherine’s Hospital.

I reached for it.

A paper slipped free and landed on the desk.

I glanced down.

The letterhead belonged to the oncology department.

My breath caught.

The patient’s name was printed clearly at the top.

Thomas Hale.

My brother.

I read the first line once.

Then again.

The clinical trial deposit had already been paid.

And beneath the hospital’s confirmation stamp was a handwritten note in Liam Mercer’s unmistakable signature:

Tell Claire nothing until she chooses to stay.