THE HEIR I WAS FORBIDDEN TO LOVE

The Next Fall Will Kill You

Chapter 3

The invitation arrived the next afternoon, thick card stock with my name written in formal ink.

I was still sitting on the edge of my bed with the bandaged wrist elevated when Theodore walked in without knocking. He held the envelope out and waited until I took it.

“You are coming tonight,” he said.

I turned the card over. Charity gala. Black tie. Downtown. “My wrist is broken.”

“You can hold a glass with the other hand.” He stayed near the door. “The family needs to appear united. The press will be there. You will smile when cameras point at us.”

“I have nothing to smile about.”

“Then do not smile. Just stand where I tell you and keep quiet.”

I set the invitation on the blanket. “Why me? You spent yesterday trying to remove me from this house.”

“Because the public still believes you belong here. Until the papers finish, that belief stays useful.” He checked his watch. “Be ready by seven. A car will wait downstairs.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I will have someone dress you and put you in the car myself.” He left before I could answer.

Scarlett appeared an hour later with a dress over her arm. Pale blue. Long sleeves to hide the bandage. She helped me into it without much talk. When she finished with the zipper she stepped back.

“Do not make a scene tonight,” she said. “Theo is already in a mood.”

“Someone pushed me down the stairs. I am allowed a mood of my own.”

She smoothed a crease near my shoulder. “You fell. The cameras showed nothing.”

“The cameras can be turned off.”

She did not reply. She only handed me a small clutch and left.

The car ride was silent. Theodore sat across from me, looking at his phone. When we reached the venue he stepped out first and offered his arm for the cameras. I took it because the alternative was worse.

Inside, the ballroom glittered with too many lights. Waiters moved between clusters of guests. Vincent and Scarlett worked the room. Victoria watched from a corner with a glass of champagne.

Theodore guided me toward the center. “We dance once. Long enough for the photographers. Then you stay near the wall.”

“You make it sound like a prison detail.”

“It is temporary.” He placed his hand at my waist. The music shifted. We moved.

He spoke low enough that only I could hear. “I hate everything you represent in this house. The years you took. The space you occupied. The way they let you stay when you should have been gone.”

I kept my voice even. “You still have the photograph. You still have not explained it.”

“There is nothing to explain.”

“There is a birthmark that matches mine. That is something.”

His grip tightened a fraction. “Stop talking about it.”

“Someone already tried to stop me with a shove down the stairs. A conversation seems safer.”

He turned us so his back faced the nearest camera. “You fell. Accept it.”

“I felt the hand.”

“You felt what you wanted to feel so you could delay leaving.”

I looked up at him. “You are very certain for a man who was not there.”

The song ended. He released me and stepped back. “Stay visible. Do not wander.”

I moved toward the edge of the room as instructed. My wrist throbbed under the sleeve. A waiter offered champagne. I shook my head.

A man in a dark suit drifted close. Average height. Ordinary face. He stopped beside me as if waiting for a friend.

“Miss Hart,” he said quietly. “You need to stop looking into the clinic.”

I turned my head. “Who are you?”

“That does not matter. What matters is the next fall will not leave you with only a broken wrist. It will kill you.”

I kept my expression steady. “Did someone send you?”

“I am only delivering the message. Walk away from the records. Walk away from the photograph. Walk away from this family while you still can.”

“And if I do not?”

He gave a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “Then the choice is made for you. Permanently.”

He stepped back into the crowd before I could ask another question. I scanned the faces around me. No one looked familiar. No one watched us openly.

Theodore appeared at my side within seconds. “Who was that?”

“I do not know.”

“He spoke to you. What did he say?”

I hesitated. “He told me to stop looking into the clinic. He said the next fall would kill me.”

Theodore’s jaw tightened. He looked in the direction the man had gone, but the crowd had already closed. “Describe him.”

“Ordinary. Dark suit. Nothing that stood out.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

Theodore stayed silent for several seconds. Then he said, “We are leaving.”

“The gala is not over.”

“It is for us.” He took my uninjured arm and steered me toward the exit. Vincent intercepted us near the doors.

“Theo, the donors still expect—”

“Handle them.” Theodore did not slow. “Miss Hart is done for the night.”

Outside, the night air felt colder. The car pulled up. Theodore opened the door and waited until I sat before joining me. The driver pulled away from the curb.

I spoke first. “You saw him.”

“I saw enough.”

“You think it was connected to the stairs.”

He looked out the window. “I think someone is taking risks they should not take.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one you get tonight.”

I shifted the bandaged wrist carefully. “You ordered me out of the house. Someone else is trying to make sure I never ask another question. Tell me how those two things are not related.”

He turned his head. “You assume I control every person under that roof.”

“You control enough of them.”

“Not all.” The admission came flat. “Some decisions were made long before I returned.”

I watched his profile. “The clinic. The photograph. The push. Now a stranger at a public event. You keep telling me to stop looking, but everything keeps pointing at the same place.”

He did not deny it. He only said, “When we reach the house you go straight to your room. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone except me or the doctor.”

“That sounds like protection.”

“It is containment. Until I know who delivered that message, you stay where I can find you.”

The car turned onto the long drive of the estate. Lights burned in the upper windows. Theodore leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Stop at the side entrance. No announcements.”

We entered through the quieter door. The halls were empty. Theodore walked me to my room and waited while I stepped inside.

“In the morning we talk about the clinic,” he said.

I turned. “You are going to explain?”

“I am going to decide how much you need to know.” He held the door handle. “For now, stay put. If anyone else comes to this door, you call me first.”

“And if they do not wait for an invitation?”

His eyes stayed on mine. “Then we learn exactly how far someone is willing to go to keep that photograph buried.”

He closed the door. The lock clicked from the outside.

I stood in the middle of the room with the pale blue dress still on and the warning still clear in my ears. The next fall would kill me. The man had said it without raising his voice. Theodore had heard enough to change his plans for the evening.

I sat on the bed and stared at the bandage. Somewhere in this house, or outside it, someone had decided my questions were already too dangerous.

And Theodore Sinclair, for the first time since he arrived, no longer looked certain he was the only one who wanted me gone.