Chapter 2 - THE PAIN HE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO FEEL
The first thing Dominic Carter did after Faith Willis left his bedroom was order everyone out.
The second was to grab his right thigh and squeeze until his knuckles turned white.
He had felt something.
Not the dull pressure that sometimes haunted his dreams. Not the phantom sensation his doctors had explained away with careful voices and sympathetic expressions.
Actual pain.
It had traveled from his knee to his hip like a live electrical wire.
And for thirty terrifying seconds, he had been grateful for it.
"Boss?"
Carmine Bellini stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame.
Dominic released his leg.
"What?"
"Should I call Dr. Whitmore?"
"No."
"Dominic, you were screaming."
"I said no."
Carmine remained where he was.
He had worked for Dominic for eleven years, long enough to recognize the difference between anger and fear.
"You haven't had a reaction like that since the hospital."
Dominic turned toward the window.
"Get out, Carmine."
The door closed.
For several minutes, Dominic stared at his reflection in the rain-streaked glass.
Thirty-eight years old.
A scar across his eyebrow.
A body that had once been powerful enough to intimidate a room simply by entering it.
Now he needed assistance getting into bed.
He hated the helplessness more than the pain.
But what disturbed him most was the memory of Faith's hands.
She hadn't recoiled when his muscles contracted. She hadn't called for someone stronger to take over. She had stayed beside him until he could breathe again.
And afterward, she had treated the entire incident like an ordinary inconvenience.
As though Dominic Carter were simply a man having a difficult morning.
Not a dangerous criminal.
Not a broken millionaire.
Just a man.
Downstairs, Faith was kneeling beside the kitchen sink when Mrs. Gable found her.
"Your hands are shaking."
Faith glanced down.
They were.
She quickly tucked them beneath the dish towel.
"I'm fine."
"Don't lie to an old woman. We're better at recognizing it than you think."
Faith gave a tired smile.
Mrs. Gable sat across from her.
"You touched him."
"He was hurting."
"Nobody touches Mr. Carter without permission."
"Then someone should change that rule."
Mrs. Gable studied her.
"Do you understand who you're working for?"
"Someone who needs help and doesn't know how to ask."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Faith resumed wiping the counter.
She had heard the rumors before applying for the position.
Dominic Carter controlled warehouses, trucking companies, restaurants, and half the waterfront businesses that ordinary Chicago residents preferred not to discuss.
His name appeared in newspaper investigations.
His associates sometimes disappeared from public life.
And six months earlier, an attack on his armored SUV had left two guards dead and Dominic unable to walk.
Faith knew enough to be cautious.
But she also knew something the newspapers didn't.
When a person lived with pain long enough, cruelty could become the only language they remembered.
Her mother had taught her that.
Before cancer took her, Evelyn Willis had worked as a rehabilitation nurse at Mercy General Hospital.
Faith had spent her teenage years watching her mother help patients learn how to sit, stand, and move again.
She had learned how to recognize muscle spasms, how to support an injured limb without forcing movement, and when to call for medical assistance.
She wasn't a nurse.
She had never claimed to be.
But she knew that sudden pain after a spinal injury deserved a doctor's attention.
And she intended to make certain Dominic received it.
At noon, she knocked on his bedroom door.
"Go away."
She entered carrying a glass of water.
Dominic looked up from his phone.
"Apparently, you don't understand English."
"I understand it perfectly."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because you had a severe spasm this morning."
He laughed without humor.
"Congratulations. You've discovered I'm disabled."
Faith placed the glass on his desk.
"Have you told your doctor?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I don't answer medical questions from employees."
"Then answer one from someone who watched you nearly fall out of your wheelchair."
His expression darkened.
"Careful."
Faith folded her arms.
"You can fire me, Mr. Carter. But you can't intimidate me into pretending that didn't happen."
He wheeled closer.
"Do you know what happened to the last person who challenged me?"
"No."
"Neither does anyone else."
Silence settled between them.
Faith looked at him for a long moment.
"Was that supposed to make you feel powerful?"
Something shifted in his expression.
"What did you say?"
"Because it didn't."
Dominic stared at her.
Then he did something neither of them expected.
He laughed.
It was brief, rough, and almost involuntary.
Faith blinked.
"There," she said softly.
"What?"
"You remember how."
His smile disappeared.
But he didn't tell her to leave.
That afternoon, Faith discovered the first inconsistency.
She was organizing supplies in Dominic's private bathroom when she noticed a medication organizer beside the sink.
Each compartment had been filled by the visiting medical team.
One bottle stood apart from the others.
The label read:
BACLOFEN — TAKE AS DIRECTED.
Faith frowned.
Her mother had once explained that medications like baclofen could be prescribed to manage muscle spasticity.
Yet Dominic's doctor had apparently told everyone his legs would remain permanently unresponsive.
The contradiction wasn't proof of anything. People with spinal injuries could experience spasms without recovering voluntary movement.
Still, something troubled her.
She examined the medication log.
Several recent doses had been marked as administered.
But Dominic had complained that morning about not receiving his usual evening tablets.
Faith didn't touch the medication.
Instead, she photographed the log and returned everything exactly as she had found it.
When she turned around, Carmine was standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking supplies."
His eyes dropped toward her phone.
"Mr. Carter's medical records are private."
"I agree."
"Then stay away from them."
Faith straightened.
"Does Dominic know his medication log says he received pills he claims he never took?"
Carmine's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
"I'll handle it."
"Will you?"
He stepped closer.
"Miss Willis, this house is not a place for curiosity."
Faith held his gaze.
"Then someone should stop leaving questions everywhere."
That evening, Dominic was alone in his study when his phone rang.
The caller was Dr. Julian Whitmore.
"Dominic, I understand you experienced another episode."
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"Who told you?"
"Your staff."
"Which staff?"
A pause.
"Does it matter?"
"Apparently."
Whitmore sighed.
"Your spinal damage is extensive. Involuntary contractions can occur. They don't necessarily indicate improvement."
"I know that."
"Then please don't allow an inexperienced caretaker to give you false hope."
Dominic stared at the phone.
"Who mentioned my caretaker?"
Another pause.
"Dominic—"
"Who?"
"I merely heard she was present."
Dominic ended the call.
Then he summoned Carmine.
"Find out who contacted Whitmore."
Carmine hesitated.
"Boss, there's something else."
"What?"
"The new girl."
Dominic's expression hardened.
"What about her?"
"She's been asking about your medication."
"Good."
Carmine blinked.
"Good?"
"Someone should."
For the first time in six months, Dominic looked genuinely interested in something beyond his own misery.
"Bring me every medical report from the night of the accident."
Carmine didn't move.
Dominic slowly raised his eyes.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, boss."
But when Carmine turned away, Dominic noticed his hand trembling.
And Dominic Carter had spent too many years recognizing fear to mistake it for anything else.
At eleven that night, Faith returned to the kitchen for water.
The mansion was quiet.
As she passed the downstairs office, she heard a man's voice.
Carmine.
"She noticed the medication."
Faith stopped.
Another voice answered through the speakerphone.
Dr. Whitmore.
"Then get her out of that house."
"What about Dominic?"
"He can't discover what we did."
Faith felt the blood drain from her face.
Carmine lowered his voice.
"If he finds out his paralysis wasn't supposed to be permanent—"
Faith backed away.
Her heel struck a decorative table.
A porcelain vase rattled.
The conversation stopped.
Then Carmine's voice came from behind the office door.
"Who's there?"
May you like
Faith stood frozen in the darkness.
And for the first time since entering Dominic Carter's mansion, she was genuinely afraid.
