Chapter 2

"Mrs. Vance, please follow my finger."

Dr. Henry Miller sat on the chair by my bed, extending his index finger and moving it slowly side to side in front of my eyes.

White lab coat. Gold-rimmed glasses. A notebook open on his lap, his fountain pen uncapped.

While his right hand moved, his left hand was scrolling through his phone. The screen displayed a long paragraph of text sent by Victoria.

"Eye-tracking is normal," he wrote in his notebook. "Mrs. Vance, did you hear any voices that weren't there last night?"

"No."

"Did you see anyone who wasn't there?"

"No."

"Did you try to contact an organization you don't know?"

I looked at him.

"What organization?"

"For example..." He glanced down at the text Victoria had sent him. "An organization called the Shadow Squad?"

"No."

"Marcus's recording shows you spoke that name. Can you explain?"

"I was talking in my sleep."

"Do you often have dreams like this? About someone coming to rescue you?"

The wording of his question was precise. No matter how I answered, it would be used as evidence in his report.

"Dr. Miller, you've already written the conclusion of this evaluation, haven't you?"

His pen paused.

"Mrs. Vance, the belief that everyone is plotting against you is, in itself, a symptom we are evaluating."

The door swung open.

Victoria walked in. She was wearing a tailored designer dress, her emerald earrings catching the light. She held a cup of chamomile tea in her hand, stirring it slowly with a silver spoon before taking a sip.

Behind her stood Marcus and another man in a sleek suit—Richard Cole, the family lawyer. The last time I saw him was the day I signed my prenuptial agreement.

"Dr. Miller, how is the evaluation coming along?"

"The basic interview is nearly complete. There are clear signs of paranoid ideation."

"Like what?"

"She insists that her abnormal speech last night was just a dream, but her heart rate data doesn't support a sleep state. She also believes the evaluation form was pre-filled, which is a classic symptom of persecutory delusion."

Victoria sat down on the chaise lounge by the window, placing her tea on the side table.

"Dr. Miller, let me be frank. I am deeply concerned about her recent behavior—talking to empty air, resisting her bodyguards, and developing these delusions of persecution. As her mother-in-law, I really—"

"What you're actually concerned about is my father's insurance policy, isn't it?"

Victoria's silver spoon froze in mid-air.

"What did you say?"

"A fifty-million-dollar life insurance policy. I am the sole beneficiary. But if I am declared mentally incompetent, the conservatorship transfers to my legal guardian. Which would be you."

The room fell into a dead silence for two seconds.

Dr. Miller scribbled frantically in his notebook. I caught a glimpse of his writing: *Patient exhibits hyper-vigilance, assigning malicious intent to reasonable family arrangements.*

"You see?" Victoria smiled gently at Dr. Miller. "What did I tell you? She thinks the whole world is out to get her."

"If your father were still alive, Elena, it would break his heart to see you like this. I'm trying to take care of you in his stead, yet you treat me like an enemy."

Her voice was incredibly tender, her expression warm and motherly.

The very woman who had orchestrated my father’s death was now using his name to make me submit.

"We can worry about the insurance later," Victoria turned to Richard. "Let's finish the diagnostic paperwork first. Richard, what are the legal steps?"

"A psychiatric hold requires signatures from two licensed physicians. Dr. Miller’s counts as one, and I’ve already contacted Director Hayes at Greenwood Sanitarium," Richard said, flipping through his folder. "Director Hayes suggests that if the preliminary evaluation supports inpatient observation, we can arrange the transfer tonight."

"Tonight?"

"The sooner, the better. If we drag this out, she might find a way to contact the outside world—"

"Impossible," Marcus interjected. "I personally monitor every single message on her phone. Her network access is restricted to shopping and weather. She can't send a thing."

"Then tonight it is," Victoria rose to her feet. "Dr. Miller, how long until the official report is ready?"

"I can issue a preliminary opinion by this afternoon—"

"No need for a preliminary one. Issue the official report directly. I'll handle Director Hayes."

She walked over to my bed, leaning down.

She got so close I could smell the lavender hand cream on her skin.

"Be a good girl. Cooperate with Dr. Miller. Once you're at the sanitarium, you can rest. You won't have to worry about a thing."

"Before your father passed, he told me... 'Elena is a stubborn child, please look after her.'"

When my name slid past her lips, it felt like a sugar-coated needle.

"I’ve always kept that in mind." She straightened up. "Give her the injection. She’s too tense."

Dr. Miller pulled a syringe from his medical bag.

"Mrs. Vance, this is just a mild sedative to help you relax—"

"I don't need it."

"She said she doesn't need it," Victoria nodded at Marcus.

Marcus stepped forward, pinning my arms behind my back.

As the needle pierced my skin, I saw Victoria’s phone screen light up. It was a notification from her charity gala planning chat.

While watching me get pinned down and drugged, she casually recorded a voice note.

"For the red carpet, I’ll wear the champagne gown. Oh, and edit my speech—add a line about supporting vulnerable women."

The drug hit my system. The ceiling began to spin.

The last thing I heard was Dr. Miller reading from his notebook:

"Preliminary diagnosis—paranoid schizophrenia. Immediate involuntary commitment recommended."