Mitchell lay on his bed, gripping his temples as sharp, relentless pain throbbed in his head. The room was silent except for his uneven breathing. The pain was unlike anything he'd felt before, as if a hammer pounded inside his skull.
A knock broke the silence. He winced, choosing to ignore it. But whoever was outside wasn't giving up. The knocking grew more insistent.
"Come in," he finally said, his voice low and strained.
Debbie stepped in, her expression shifting to concern as she saw him. "Brother Mitch, I've been knocking forever. Were you asleep?"
Mitchell straightened slightly, masking his discomfort. "No. I was in the bathroom," he said, his tone casual.
Debbie narrowed her eyes as she walked closer. "Are you sure you're okay? You look... I don't know, your face looks a bit flushed.
"I'm fine," he replied firmly, brushing off her concern.
But Debbie wasn't convinced. She studied his face carefully, her worry deepening. "You're lying," she said simply. "What's going on? Tell me, Brother Mitch. You never know, I might be able to help."
Mitchell hesitated. He didn't want to alarm her or make a fuss, but the weight of the pain and her persistence got the better of him. With a sigh, he spoke.
"Debbie, I've been getting these awful headaches. And the weird part is, it gets worse every time I take my medicine."
Debbie frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line as she thought. "That doesn't make any sense." Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. "What if we throw the medicine away? No one has to know."
Mitchell's head snapped up. "What? Are you crazy? That medicine is supposed to help me!"
"Then why is it making you worse?" Debbie shot back. She softened her voice as she sat beside him. "Let's try this. Don't take the meds for a month. If the pain goes away, we'll know it's the medicine causing it." She held out her hand, her expression confident. "Deal?"
Mitchell stared at her outstretched hand, weighing her suggestion. After a moment, he sighed. "Fine. But only if we keep this between us."
Debbie grinned. "Our little secret. I promise." She held out her pinky, and Mitchell reluctantly hooked his own around it.
Debbie grabbed the medicine bottle and slipped it into her purse. "Alright, I'm heading out with the girls. Take it easy, Brother Mitch!"
As she walked out, she paused by the trash can and tossed the bottle in with a triumphant smirk. "Medicine's overrated. Parties are the real cure," she joked, hopping into her car.
She didn't notice the quiet figure nearby. Butler Edward had been observing from a distance, and his sharp eyes caught everything. Once she was gone, he retrieved the discarded bottle, examining it closely.
"Why would this make him worse?" Edward muttered to himself. His instincts told him something was wrong. "The family doctor... I need answers."
He quickly took a picture of the label and sent it to an old friend at a nearby hospital. Minutes later, he received a reply:
"These are post-surgery drugs. If taken beyond prescription, they can cause severe brain damage."
Edward's face darkened as he re-read the message. "Brain damage?" His mind raced with possibilities. "Could this be Aunt Gomez's doing?"
---
In her lavish study, Aunt Gomez reclined in a high-backed chair, a wicked smile curling on her lips as she ended her phone call.
"I'll send your balance later today," she told the family doctor.
Nearby, her son Daniel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "How soon will it start working?"
"Patience, Daniel," Aunt Gomez replied with a sly grin. "A slow and steady game is always best."
---
Back in his room, Mitchell shifted uncomfortably on the bed. The pain had finally eased, but his mind was restless. One thought consumed him, Clara.
"Why hasn't she called me yet?" he muttered. "Is she being stubborn again?"
For a moment, he considered asking Ashley for Clara's number, but the thought irritated him. He knew Ashley's feelings for Clara ran deeper than they should. Asking him would only cause unnecessary tension.
After some deliberation, Mitchell texted his father's secretary. Within minutes, the number was sent to him.
Staring at his phone, he hesitated. His heart raced as his thumb hovered over the screen. Finally, he took a deep breath and dialed.
---
Clara had just stepped out of the shower, her hair wrapped in a towel, when her phone buzzed. Seeing the unfamiliar number, she frowned. When the call came again, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Clara."
The voice on the other end was warm, deep, and oddly soothing. She froze, recognizing it immediately.
"Clara, are you there?"
"Uh, yes, I'm here," she stammered. "How did you get my number?"
"My dad gave it to me," Mitchell said after a brief pause. "He wanted me to check if your first day at work went okay."
Clara tilted her head. She could tell he was lying, but she decided to play along. "It went fine," she said, keeping her tone neutral.
"That's good to hear." Mitchell hesitated, then asked, "Would it be alright if I texted you later?"
"Sure," Clara replied, her voice soft.
They lingered in silence for a moment before Mitchell mumbled a quick goodbye and ended the call.
---
Natasha, sprawled on the couch, grinned at Clara. "Was that Mitchell?"
Clara shot her a warning look. "Don't start."
"I just asked a question," Natasha replied, feigning innocence. She sat up, her expression shifting. "Oh, by the way, you have a package."
Clara's heart skipped. "A package?"
"Relax," Natasha said with a laugh. "It's just the headset
you ordered. I opened it."
Clara exhaled, relief washing over her. She'd been scared for nothing.