A Poor Woman Was Forced to Marry a Sleeping Billionaire — Then the Man Everyone Thought Was Unconscious Revealed He Had Heard Every Word.
PART 2
Wren did not leave Kade House that night.
Genevieve’s investigators searched every hospital and treatment center in New England for Delphine Ashcombe, but the guardianship papers listed an outdated address, and Odalys had registered her under her maiden name. Until they found her, Wren remained close to the only people powerful enough to help.
She also remained close to Weston.
The doctors said he had been in a minimally conscious state for fourteen months following a highway crash. He did not follow commands consistently, open his eyes, or speak.
“Talk to him,” Dr. Everett Reyes advised. “Familiar voices sometimes build a bridge.”
“My voice isn’t familiar.”
“It can become familiar.”
So it did.
Each morning, Wren read him the newspaper and skipped stories about Kade Meridian’s falling stock price. At night, she told him about the life she had once planned: an art degree, a classroom with paint-stained tables, children who would learn that a mistake could become part of a picture instead of ruining it.
She never told him she was his wife as if the title gave her ownership. Instead she said, “They call me Mrs. Kade, but if you wake up, you may call me Wren.”
On the sixth morning, she noticed that a clear medication bag hanging beside his bed had no pharmacy label.
“What is this?”
The private nurse glanced at it. “His muscle relaxant.”
“The other bags have printed labels.”
“The pharmacy printer was down.”
Wren pressed the call button and asked for Dr. Reyes.
The nurse’s friendliness vanished. “You are not medically trained.”
“No. But I can read.”
Genevieve arrived before the doctor. When she heard what happened, she ordered the infusion stopped and sent the bag for testing.
That afternoon, the nurse disappeared.
Dr. Reyes reported that the bag contained the correct drug at twice the prescribed concentration. He called it a pharmacy error.
Wren did not believe him. Neither did Genevieve.
Security cameras showed the nurse leaving through a service gate. Her employment documents were false.
“Someone has been keeping him unconscious,” Wren said.
Genevieve stood at the window with both hands wrapped around a cup she had forgotten to drink. “Or making certain he appears that way.”
“Who benefits?”
They both knew the answer.
Marcus controlled Kade Meridian only while Weston was incapacitated. In four months, the board could invoke a permanent-disability clause and elect a new chief executive.
That evening, Wren returned to Weston’s bedside and locked the door.
“I think somebody is hurting you,” she whispered. “If you can hear me, I need a sign.” She placed her hand beneath his. “Move one finger.”
Nothing happened.
She waited until the fire sank into embers. “Please.”
His little finger pressed weakly against her skin.
Wren stopped breathing. “Weston?”
His eyelids trembled. His hand tightened once, then went limp.
She ran for Genevieve.
By the time they returned with Dr. Reyes, Weston was unresponsive. The doctor tested pain reflexes and light response, then gave Wren a patient smile.
“Involuntary movement is common.”
“It wasn’t involuntary.”
“You have been under extraordinary stress. You wanted an answer, and your mind interpreted a reflex as one.”
But that night, she moved the armchair against Weston’s door.
At two in the morning, the handle turned.
The chair scraped across the floor. Wren sat up. A shadow withdrew on the other side.
She took her phone, opened the camera, and waited.
The door moved again, more carefully this time. A gloved hand slipped through the gap.
Wren switched on the lamp.
Marcus stood in the hallway.
“Looking for something?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to her phone. “I heard Weston’s alarm.”
“There was no alarm.”
“Then I was mistaken.”
“Why are you wearing gloves inside?”
He smiled without humor. “Boston winters.”
Wren lifted the phone so the camera caught his face. “You threatened me on my wedding night. Now you’re trying to enter Weston’s room at two in the morning. Would you like to explain that to security?”
Marcus reached through the doorway.
The bed alarm shrieked.
Behind Wren, Weston’s body jerked. His eyes opened.
They were gray, furious, and awake.
“Don’t,” he rasped.
Marcus froze.
Wren turned. Weston was fighting to lift his head.
“Don’t touch her.”
The door slammed as Marcus fled.