Chapter 5
I gripped the chart so tightly my knuckles blanched.
Edward Blackwell had allegedly died two years ago. Liam had attended the funeral in all black. Constance had wept at the service. The will was read the following week.
Yet here he was—breathing, alive, hooked to monitors that beeped in steady rhythm.
"Doctor?" The nurse looked at me with concern. "Are you alright?"
I forced composure into my voice. "Yes. Fine. Who admitted him?"
"A private care team. The file says the family representative is—" she flipped a page, "—a Mr. Gerald Pike."
Gerald Pike. Liam's grandfather's personal attorney. The same man who had read the will.
My mind raced. If Edward was alive, the will was premature—or fabricated. If the will was fabricated, the marriage clause naming me might be a lie too. Which meant Liam had been using a fake legal document to control me.
Or someone else had orchestrated all of it.
I checked Edward's vitals with deliberate calm, studied his scans, noted the advanced but treatable neurological deterioration. He was sedated. Heavily.
"Who authorized this level of sedation?" I asked.
The nurse shifted uncomfortably. "The private care team handles his medication. We were told not to adjust."
Someone was keeping Edward Blackwell unconscious. Someone who benefited from the world believing he was dead.
I excused myself and stepped into the hallway, heart pounding. I pulled out my phone and texted Rebecca: *Need to meet urgently. Found something that changes everything.*
That night, in Rebecca's office, I told her what I'd seen.
Her face was steel. "If Edward Blackwell is alive, the probate of his will is fraudulent. Any clauses in it—including the one naming you—are legally void."
"Which means Liam has no grounds to hold me in this marriage."
"More than that," Rebecca said, leaning forward. "It means someone committed fraud. Possibly elder abuse. Possibly attempted murder through medical negligence."
The question burned: did Liam know his grandfather was alive?
In my first life, Liam never spoke of Edward with warmth. Their relationship was transactional—Edward held the purse strings, and Liam danced accordingly. But would Liam go as far as faking a death?
"I need proof," I said. "Medical records, admission documents, the sedation orders."
"Can you access them?"
"He's my patient now." A slow smile crossed my face. "Yes, I can."
Over the next two days, I carefully documented everything. The sedation protocol was irregular—designed to keep Edward in a near-vegetative state without actually killing him. Someone with medical knowledge had crafted it.
On the third day, Edward's eyes opened during my examination.
His gaze was foggy, confused, but lucid enough to focus on my face. His cracked lips moved.
I leaned closer.
"Penny..." he breathed. "You... came."
My blood turned to ice. He knew me?
I hadn't seen Edward Blackwell since I was a child. How did he—
His hand, weak and trembling, gripped my wrist. "Don't trust... him. The boy. He knows... everything."
"Mr. Blackwell, who did this to you?"
His eyes flickered with terror. "Li... am."
Then the door burst open. Marcus Webb stood there, face white.
"Dr. Hudson." His voice was carefully controlled. "Mr. Blackwell would like a word."
Behind him, stepping into the fluorescent light of the hospital corridor, was Liam.
His eyes swept from me to his grandfather's bed. Something dark and unreadable passed across his face.
"Well," he said softly. "This is unfortunate."
Edward Blackwell had allegedly died two years ago. Liam had attended the funeral in all black. Constance had wept at the service. The will was read the following week.
Yet here he was—breathing, alive, hooked to monitors that beeped in steady rhythm.
"Doctor?" The nurse looked at me with concern. "Are you alright?"
I forced composure into my voice. "Yes. Fine. Who admitted him?"
"A private care team. The file says the family representative is—" she flipped a page, "—a Mr. Gerald Pike."
Gerald Pike. Liam's grandfather's personal attorney. The same man who had read the will.
My mind raced. If Edward was alive, the will was premature—or fabricated. If the will was fabricated, the marriage clause naming me might be a lie too. Which meant Liam had been using a fake legal document to control me.
Or someone else had orchestrated all of it.
I checked Edward's vitals with deliberate calm, studied his scans, noted the advanced but treatable neurological deterioration. He was sedated. Heavily.
"Who authorized this level of sedation?" I asked.
The nurse shifted uncomfortably. "The private care team handles his medication. We were told not to adjust."
Someone was keeping Edward Blackwell unconscious. Someone who benefited from the world believing he was dead.
I excused myself and stepped into the hallway, heart pounding. I pulled out my phone and texted Rebecca: *Need to meet urgently. Found something that changes everything.*
That night, in Rebecca's office, I told her what I'd seen.
Her face was steel. "If Edward Blackwell is alive, the probate of his will is fraudulent. Any clauses in it—including the one naming you—are legally void."
"Which means Liam has no grounds to hold me in this marriage."
"More than that," Rebecca said, leaning forward. "It means someone committed fraud. Possibly elder abuse. Possibly attempted murder through medical negligence."
The question burned: did Liam know his grandfather was alive?
In my first life, Liam never spoke of Edward with warmth. Their relationship was transactional—Edward held the purse strings, and Liam danced accordingly. But would Liam go as far as faking a death?
"I need proof," I said. "Medical records, admission documents, the sedation orders."
"Can you access them?"
"He's my patient now." A slow smile crossed my face. "Yes, I can."
Over the next two days, I carefully documented everything. The sedation protocol was irregular—designed to keep Edward in a near-vegetative state without actually killing him. Someone with medical knowledge had crafted it.
On the third day, Edward's eyes opened during my examination.
His gaze was foggy, confused, but lucid enough to focus on my face. His cracked lips moved.
I leaned closer.
"Penny..." he breathed. "You... came."
My blood turned to ice. He knew me?
I hadn't seen Edward Blackwell since I was a child. How did he—
His hand, weak and trembling, gripped my wrist. "Don't trust... him. The boy. He knows... everything."
"Mr. Blackwell, who did this to you?"
His eyes flickered with terror. "Li... am."
Then the door burst open. Marcus Webb stood there, face white.
"Dr. Hudson." His voice was carefully controlled. "Mr. Blackwell would like a word."
Behind him, stepping into the fluorescent light of the hospital corridor, was Liam.
His eyes swept from me to his grandfather's bed. Something dark and unreadable passed across his face.
"Well," he said softly. "This is unfortunate."