Thirty minutes later, the doorbell of the penthouse chimed.
Dr. Alan, Gaines's highly paid private physician, arrived with his black medical bag.
Gaines stood at the end of the hallway. His face was an unreadable mask. He pointed a finger toward the master bedroom.
"Examine her," Gaines ordered flatly. "I'll be in the study."
Gaines walked into his dark, wood-paneled study. He sat down behind his massive desk and clicked a button on his laptop. The live feed from the hidden security camera in the master bedroom popped up on the screen.
Dr. Alan knocked softly and entered the bedroom.
He turned on the bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated Jaclyn. She was sitting up in bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes red and swollen.
Dr. Alan checked her pupils with a penlight. He gently examined her swollen ankle.
"Mrs. Acevedo," Dr. Alan asked in a soothing voice. "Can you tell me what caused you to fall down the stairs?"
Jaclyn knew Gaines was watching. She could feel his eyes on her through the camera lens.
This was her chance.
She immediately dropped her gaze to her lap. Her fingers began to nervously twist and pull at the edge of the silk blanket. She made her breathing shallow and erratic.
"I... I had a nightmare," Jaclyn stammered, her voice trembling perfectly. "Everyone was trying to push me. They were trying to kill me. Gaines was the only one who caught me."
In the study, Gaines's hand froze halfway to his mouth. The unlit cigar slipped from his fingers and dropped onto the mahogany desk.
Dr. Alan frowned. He pulled out a small notepad and quickly jotted down: Suspected Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) with mild paranoia.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Alan walked into the study.
"Mr. Acevedo," the doctor said gravely. "The physical trauma from the fall, combined with extreme psychological stress, has caused her defense mechanisms to collapse."
Dr. Alan adjusted his glasses. "Her sudden attachment to you is... concerning. It could be a complex trauma response. Sometimes, under extreme stress, the brain latches onto a figure of authority or power as a source of safety, even if that same figure was previously perceived as a threat. We need to observe her carefully."
Gaines's face turned the color of granite. His stomach twisted into a painful knot.
He would rather she be acting than have her docility be a symptom of a broken brain.
Before Gaines could respond, the intercom on his desk buzzed.
"Sir," the head butler's voice crackled through the speaker. "Miss Cherri Lester is in the lobby. She insists on seeing her cousin."
Gaines's eyes darkened. He wanted to throw the girl out onto the street. But he looked at Dr. Alan's notes.
"Send her up," Gaines commanded. He needed to see how Jaclyn reacted to her family in this state.
A few minutes later, Cherri strutted into the master bedroom, carrying a ridiculously expensive fruit basket.
Jaclyn saw Cherri's face. The phantom feeling of the pillow pressing over her mouth suffocated her. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke.
But she forced her facial muscles to relax into a blank, vacant stare.
Cherri sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and grabbed Jaclyn's hand.
"Jackie," Cherri whispered, her eyes darting around the room. "Why were you so weird on the phone? Did that psycho force you to say that?"
Jaclyn violently flinched. She snatched her hand back and pressed herself against the headboard.
"My head hurts," Jaclyn whined, her eyes darting nervously. "I don't remember. I'm just scared."
A spark of gleeful triumph flashed in Cherri's eyes. The fall really had scrambled her stupid cousin's brain.
Cherri leaned in closer. "Listen to me. Gaines is a monster. Bradford loves you. You need to sign the new trust documents so we can get you out of here."
Jaclyn laughed internally. It was so easy to see the manipulation now.
She grabbed her own hair and pulled slightly, feigning distress.
"But..." Jaclyn said, her voice loud and slightly manic. "Gaines said if I'm a good girl, he will fix the piano for me."
Cherri froze. She stared at Jaclyn like she was looking at a rabid dog. The sentence made absolutely no sense in the context of their conversation.
In the study, Gaines stopped breathing.
He stared at the monitor. His heart slammed against his ribs. That sentence wasn't crazy. It was a direct, laser-guided message aimed straight at him.
Cherri stood up abruptly, smoothing down her skirt in disgust.
"You need rest," Cherri muttered, backing away toward the door.
The moment the door clicked shut behind Cherri, the vacant, crazy look vanished from Jaclyn's face.
She sat up straight. A cold, calculating smirk touched the corners of her lips.
The game was officially on.
