She took a step backward, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking sharply against the polished hardwood floor.

“You don’t know what you are talking about, Mrs. Thornton.”

“I saw the medical logs, Benson. The doses of sedatives don’t match the doctor’s original prescriptions in the main house files.”

Her face drained of color, making her look as pale as the man lying in the bed behind us.

“You shouldn’t have looked at those,” she said, her voice shaking. “You have no right to touch his files.”

“Who altered them? You? Or did Jason tell you exactly how much to give him?”

The rain lashed against the windowpane, sounding like gravel thrown against the glass.

The wind howled through the gaps in the old window frames, making the heavy velvet drapes sway.

Benson looked toward the door, her fingers twitching at her sides.

“I was just doing what I was told,” she muttered.

“Your job is to help him recover,” I said, pointing toward Ethan. “Not to keep him drugged so he never wakes up.”

“You don’t understand how this family works,” she said, her eyes wild. “You’re just a girl they bought to keep up appearances.”