Chapter 4: The Coma Was a Lie

Mrs. Whitaker’s face stayed grim, but she nodded stiffly. Then she pulled me aside, and I got a sinking feeling in my gut. She steered me into the hallway, her grip still tight. I braced myself for a lecture—or worse.

"Emily, I chose you myself. You must take good care of Julian for me. If anything happens, you call me immediately. Got it?" Her tone was pure command. I nodded so fast my neck cracked. Double salary was worth any risk.

Only then did Mrs. Whitaker look satisfied. She sat with Julian for ten minutes, then hurried out, leaving a faint trail of perfume and worry. The room felt emptier than before.

The mansion was quiet again. I sat back on my little stool, looking at the still-comatose Julian. The marks I’d pinched into his face were gone. I let out a sigh of relief, my secret safe for another day. No one would ever know what I’d done.

I looked at Julian and suddenly burst out laughing. "Not bad. Taking care of a wild rich kid and getting paid this much—it’s worth it." I shook my head. Life was weird, but sometimes it worked out.

Maybe it was all the money, but I started feeling a weird fondness for the comatose Julian. I talked to him more—about my day, my favorite shows, the best pizza joints in Chicago. It felt like we were friends, in a weird way.

Sometimes, when no one was around, I just wanted to get closer. I’d sit and watch him breathe, wondering what he’d say if he ever woke up.

But then, out of nowhere, Julian—eyes still closed—slapped me on the forehead. It didn’t hurt, but it definitely stunned me. What kind of luck lets you get bullied by a guy in a coma? I rubbed my forehead, muttering, "You’re lucky you’re cute."

The special feelings I’d just developed vanished instantly. I crossed my arms, pouting. Maybe he wasn’t so charming after all.

In this bedroom, Mrs. Whitaker had installed a high-def camera for Julian’s safety. The little red light blinked in the corner, always watching. I felt like I was on a reality show, minus the drama—well, most of the time.

I glanced at the new camera, found a tricky angle, and slowly reached under the covers… With a twist of my hand, Julian’s eyelashes fluttered. I smiled. "Dang, another unconscious reflex."

I made a friend. Her name was Tessa Brooks, and she handled the fresh flowers in every room. She told me she envied my luck—being able to stay by Julian’s side all the time. She had a soft Indiana drawl and hands that always smelled like roses.

I didn’t dare say much. My luck really was good—my salary was double everyone else’s. But if I bragged, I was afraid I’d start a riot. If I told anyone, they’d probably beg to swap jobs.

Tessa often snuck into the room to keep me company, holding my hand and saying how blessed I was. Sometimes she’d braid my hair or sneak me snacks. She was the closest thing I had to a friend in the house.

I asked her what was so blessed about it. Tessa stared at Julian, her eyes lingering a little too long. Her smile was a little too sly. I started to get a weird feeling.

To be honest, I always felt something was off about her gaze, like she wanted to eat him alive. It was the kind of look you see in old movies, right before something bad happens. My gut told me to watch out.

And sure enough, I was right. One night, just like any other, Tessa—who should’ve been in bed—came in with a glass of orange juice. It was freshly squeezed, just the right amount of pulp. She set it on the nightstand, her fingers lingering on the glass.

"You’re up all night. I brought you some juice," she said, voice sweet as honey. But her eyes made me uneasy. She was my first real friend here. Naturally, I accepted her kindness, but I didn’t dare drink too much—couldn’t risk missing something and losing my job. I took a cautious sip, smiling. "You’re a lifesaver, Tessa."

After handing me the juice, Tessa didn’t stick around. As she left, she tripped over the extension cord running from the wall. She let out a yelp, arms flailing, and the glass in her hand shattered on the floor. Orange juice splattered everywhere, soaking into the carpet. The smell was sharp and sweet.

She’d tripped over the surveillance camera’s power cord. The plug was out, water everywhere. Afraid it was dangerous, I hurried to help her, but as soon as I stood up, I felt dizzy. A wave of nausea hit me, the room spinning. My legs buckled. When I reached her, my vision went black and I collapsed. My knees hit the floor, and everything went silent. The last thing I heard was Tessa humming softly.

In the dim room, I lay on the floor, motionless. The only sound was the distant tick of the clock. My limbs felt like lead, my mind foggy.

Tessa, with a triumphant, twisted smile, took off her jacket, revealing a silky nightgown underneath. She moved with slow, deliberate grace, her eyes never leaving Julian. She walked slowly toward Julian’s bed, her footsteps nearly silent. The moonlight caught the shimmer of her gown.

Her soft hands caressed his face again and again. She traced the line of his jaw, her fingers trembling with anticipation. "I wonder if you can do it or not," she whispered, her voice low but clear in the quiet room.

Her face was seductive and unhinged, her eyes obsessed, staring devoutly at the unconscious Julian. She leaned in, her breath hot against his skin. It was like watching a train wreck—you wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

Her trembling hands began to unbutton his shirt. Her fingers fumbled, her breathing ragged. She seemed almost feverish. When she revealed his chest, still covered in scars from the crash, she lowered her head, wanting to kiss him. She paused, lips hovering above his skin, eyes closing in anticipation.

Suddenly—bang! Tessa, about to "show her skills," slumped and collapsed onto Julian. The crack of the bat echoed in the room. I stood over her, adrenaline pumping, heart racing.

I stood by the bed, baseball bat in hand. My hands were shaking, but I kept my grip tight. First time for everything, I guess.

Since I was paid so much, I figured I’d do some bodyguard work too. No way was I letting the young master lose his dignity while in a coma. If he ever woke up, he’d hunt me down for sure.

After making sure Tessa was out cold, I rolled up my sleeves to move her, but she was over a hundred pounds—way too heavy. I tried to drag her, but she was dead weight. My back started to ache. I muttered, "Should’ve skipped leg day."

Luckily, Julian helped out. He kicked Tessa off the bed with one swift motion. His leg shot out, sending her tumbling to the floor. I stared, mouth open.