The mansion felt quieter than usual.
It was the first thing I noticed when I stepped out of my room that morning. No soft clatter from the kitchen, no familiar voices drifting through the halls. Just silence—clean, undisturbed, almost too still.
Mr. and Mrs. Huang were still in Hawaii.
For a moment, I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand resting lightly on the railing as I took it in. The emptiness settled somewhere deeper than it should have, though I couldn't quite explain why.
I shook the feeling off and headed downstairs.
Harley was already in the dining area, seated at the long table with a cup of coffee in front of him. The faint scent reached me before I even stepped fully into the room—and immediately, my stomach tightened.
I slowed without meaning to.
The smell shouldn't have bothered me. It never had before. But now it felt too strong, too sharp, curling unpleasantly at the back of my throat.
I forced myself to keep walking.
"Morning," I said, keeping my tone even as I pulled out a chair across from him.
Harley looked up, his gaze settling on me in that same quiet, assessing way.
"Morning."
The word lingered in the air, followed by a silence that felt heavier than it should have.
I reached for a glass of water instead of anything else, taking a small sip as I avoided looking at the food laid out on the table. Even the thought of eating made my stomach uneasy.
"You're not going to eat?" Harley asked.
"I'll grab something later," I replied.
His eyes didn't leave my face. "You said that yesterday."
"I wasn't hungry yesterday."
"And today?"
"I'm still not."
The answer came too quickly, but I didn't take it back.
A faint crease appeared between his brows. "Sophie—"
"I'm fine," I cut in, sharper than I intended.
The word echoed slightly in the otherwise quiet room.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
I exhaled slowly and softened my tone. "It's nothing, Harley. I'm just a little tired."
He didn't respond right away. His fingers tapped once against the side of his coffee cup, his gaze still steady, still watching.
"You've been saying that a lot," he said finally.
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten—not accusatory, not even forceful, just… certain.
Like he didn't believe me.
I looked away first.
"I have work," I said, standing before he could say anything else. "I'll eat later."
Another lie.
I grabbed my bag and walked out, ignoring the way his gaze followed me all the way to the door.
—
The hospital was already alive with movement by the time I arrived.
Normally, the energy grounded me. The noise, the constant motion—it gave me something to focus on, something steady.
Today, it only made everything feel louder.
Brighter.
Harder to keep up with.
I moved through my morning rounds carefully, forcing myself to concentrate on each task, each patient, each detail. For a while, it worked. I answered questions, checked vitals, wrote notes—everything I was supposed to do.
Everything I had done a thousand times before.
But the feeling didn't go away.
That same heaviness sat in my body, dull but persistent, like something just slightly out of place.
By mid-morning, the nausea crept back.
Subtle at first. Just a faint discomfort that lingered in the background.
Then stronger.
I stepped into the hallway outside one of the patient rooms, pausing briefly as I pressed my lips together, breathing slowly through my nose.
Not here.
Not again.
I closed my eyes for a second, willing the feeling to pass.
"Sophie?"
I opened my eyes.
Samuel stood a few steps away, a chart in his hand, his expression already shifting the moment he saw me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, straightening.
His gaze flicked over my face, then down briefly—taking in more than I wanted him to.
"You don't look fine."
"I didn't sleep well," I replied.
"That's not what this looks like."
I forced a small smile. "You're overanalyzing."
"And you're deflecting."
I let out a quiet breath, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm working. I don't have time to be sick."
"That's not how being sick works."
"I'm not sick."
The words came out firmer this time.
Samuel didn't argue immediately. He just watched me, his expression softening slightly—not backing down, but adjusting.
Gentler.
"You're pale," he said quietly. "And you're holding your breath like you're trying not to throw up."
I froze for half a second.
Then forced myself to relax. "I'm not."
"You just did it again."
I turned away slightly, pretending to check something on the chart in my hands. "You're imagining things."
"I'm really not."
His voice wasn't pushy. It wasn't sharp.
It was calm.
Certain.
That somehow made it harder to brush off.
"I'll be fine," I said, softer now. "It's probably just something I ate."
"Then have you eaten today?"
"Yes."
Another lie.
Samuel's gaze lingered on me, unconvinced.
"Sophie."
I didn't look at him.
"What?"
"Come with me."
I frowned slightly. "Where?"
"The cafeteria. You need to eat something."
"I said I already ate."
"And I said I don't believe you."
I let out a quiet breath, irritation flickering at the edges. "I don't have time—"
"You have five minutes."
"I have patients."
"So do I," he replied calmly. "And I'm still making time."
I opened my mouth to argue again, but the words didn't come as easily this time.
Because the truth was—
Standing there was already harder than it should have been.
My body felt heavier, my energy thinner, like I was pushing through something invisible.
Samuel must have seen it in my expression, because his voice softened slightly.
"Five minutes," he repeated. "That's all I'm asking."
I hesitated.
Then exhaled.
"…Fine."
—
The cafeteria was quieter than usual, the low hum of conversation blending into the background.
Samuel handed me a bottle of water and a small pack of crackers, placing them in front of me without asking what I wanted.
I looked at them, then at him.
"This feels very controlling."
"It's practical," he replied.
"It feels controlling."
"You can complain after you eat."
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
Almost.
I picked up one of the crackers, breaking it in half before bringing it to my mouth. I chewed slowly, waiting for the familiar wave of nausea.
It came.
But weaker this time.
Manageable.
I swallowed carefully and reached for the water, taking a small sip.
Samuel watched me the entire time, not saying anything.
That somehow made me more aware of every movement.
"I told you I was fine," I said after a moment.
"You're eating like someone who isn't fine."
"I'm eating, aren't I?"
"Barely."
I frowned slightly but didn't respond.
For a moment, silence settled between us.
Then—
"Sophie," he said quietly, "if something's wrong, you don't have to push through it alone."
My fingers tightened slightly around the water bottle.
"I'm not pushing through anything," I replied. "There's nothing wrong."
Even as I said it, the words felt… uncertain.
Like I was trying to convince myself more than him.
Samuel didn't argue.
He just nodded once, though the concern in his eyes didn't fade.
"Okay," he said. "But if it gets worse, you tell me."
I looked away. "It won't."
—
By the time I left the hospital, the unease had settled deeper.
Not stronger, not sharper.
Just… more present.
Like something I couldn't ignore anymore, no matter how much I tried.
The mansion was quiet again when I got back.
Too quiet.
I stepped inside slowly, slipping off my shoes, the silence pressing in around me.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Listening to nothing.
Feeling everything.
Then—
"You're home."
I looked up.
Harley stood near the living room, his gaze already on me.
"You're early," he added.
"I finished my rounds," I said.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he stepped closer. "Did you eat today?"
The question caught me off guard.
"…Yes."
He didn't respond immediately.
Just watched me.
Like he was waiting for something.
Like he knew.
"You're lying," he said quietly.
My chest tightened.
"I'm not."
His jaw shifted slightly. "Sophie—"
"I said I'm fine."
The words came out sharper this time.
Too sharp.
Silence followed.
Tense.
Heavy.
For a second, it felt like something might break between us.
Then Harley exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping for just a moment before returning to me—controlled again.
"Fine," he said.
But it didn't sound like he meant it.
Not even a little.
I turned away before he could say anything else, heading upstairs with steady steps.
But the moment I reached my room and closed the door behind me, that steadiness slipped.
I leaned back against the door, my breath uneven.
Something wasn't right.
I knew it now.
Not just tired.
Not just stress.
Something else.
Something I couldn't explain.
My hand drifted to my stomach again, resting there unconsciously.
A strange, uneasy feeling settled deep in my chest.
Uncertainty.
It wrapped around my thoughts, quiet but persistent.
And no matter how much I tried to push it away—
It didn't leave.