HUSH. Episode 19
1835 Words
The master bedroom on the east wing of the Raymond Mansion was quiet.
The afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting long shadows across the luxurious room.
Richard Raymond loosened his tie as he stood by the window, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
His wife, Victoria, sat before the vanity, slowly removing her jewelry after the family brunch.
Neither spoke for several moments.
Finally, Richard broke the silence.
“I don’t like the way Father looked at Damian today.”
Victoria met his eyes through the mirror.
“You mean with pride.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“Exactly.”
“He hasn’t looked at any of us that way in years.”
Victoria removed an earring and placed it neatly into a velvet box.
“Because Damian keeps giving him reasons.”
Richard scoffed.
“He’s been back for one night and Father’s already singing his praises.”
“The business.”
“The gala.”
“The investors.”
“It’s always Damian.”
Victoria’s expression darkened.
“I noticed.”
She stood and walked toward the window beside her husband.
“I’ve spent years trying to become the woman everyone in this family respects.”
“I’ve hosted dinners.”
“I’ve managed the household.”
“I’ve built relationships with influential families.”
“And yet…”
She let out a bitter laugh.
“The moment Damian walks into a room…”
“Everyone forgets the rest of us.”
Richard took a slow sip of his drink.
“He was always Father’s favorite.”
“No.”
Victoria corrected quietly.
“He still is.”
Silence settled between them.
After a moment, Victoria spoke again, her voice lower than before.
“There was a time…”
Richard glanced at her.
“…when I genuinely cared about him.”
She stared out at the gardens.
“He was kind.”
“Respectful.”
“Different from the others.”
A faint, humorless smile crossed her lips.
“I even tried to get closer to him.”
Richard looked at her without surprise.
“I know.”
Victoria sighed.
“He never encouraged it.”
“He never crossed a line.”
“He treated me with nothing but respect.”
Her expression gradually hardened.
“But respect doesn’t make someone head of the Raymond family.”
She folded her arms.
“The more Father admired him…”
“The more I realized that as long as Damian lived…”
“…our family would never stand at the top.”
Richard remained silent.
His wife turned toward him.
“My feelings disappeared a long time ago.”
“All I see now…”
“…is the biggest obstacle between us and everything we’ve worked for.”
Richard’s grip tightened around his glass.
“Father is already thinking about his successor.”
“And after today…”
“I have no doubt who’s at the front of his mind.”
Victoria’s eyes grew cold.
“Then Damian has to lose Father’s trust.”
Richard looked at her carefully.
“And if he doesn’t?”
She answered without hesitation.
“Then he’ll always be standing in our way.”
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
Outside the bedroom window, the gardens of the Raymond Mansion looked peaceful.
Inside…
The seeds of resentment continued to grow, hidden behind polished smiles and the appearance of a united family.
Damian sat comfortably in the leather chair of his private office inside the Raymond Mansion.
The room was quiet, illuminated only by the afternoon sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
A tablet rested on his lap.
Beside him stood Ethan, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited silently.
On the tablet, a recorded video played.
It had been taken discreetly during the Raymond Charity Gala the previous night.
The camera focused on two men standing near one of the ballroom balconies.
Ramos Stuart.
And his father.
The older Stuart patriarch held a glass of champagne, his eyes fixed across the ballroom where Damian had made his entrance.
Even through the recording, the displeasure on the man’s face was unmistakable.
“So…”
the elder Stuart muttered.
“That’s Damian Raymond.”
Ramos nodded once.
“Yes.”
The older man scoffed.
“I can see why Theodore favors him.”
His gaze never left Damian’s figure in the distance.
“The confidence…”
“The composure…”
“The way he carries himself…”
He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“That kind of presence can’t be taught.”
Ramos remained silent.
The older man’s expression darkened.
“When he walked into that ballroom…”
“It was as though he owned the entire place.”
He tightened his grip around his glass.
“The guests stopped talking.”
“The businessmen watched him.”
“Even Theodore stood up.”
A flicker of jealousy crossed his face.
“That aura…”
“I hate it.”
Ramos lowered his voice.
“He has always been like that.”
His father turned sharply toward him.
“And that’s exactly the problem.”
He took another sip before continuing.
“A man like Damian attracts loyalty without asking for it.”
“People naturally gravitate toward him.”
His eyes narrowed.
“If Theodore names him successor…”
“The Raymonds will become even stronger.”
The video ended there.
The screen went black.
Damian let out a quiet scoff before locking the tablet.
Ethan glanced toward him.
“They seem… unsettled.”
Damian’s lips curved into a faint, indifferent smile.
“Jealousy makes people observant.”
He placed the tablet on the desk.
“The old man wasn’t wrong.”
Ethan remained silent.
Damian stood and walked toward the window overlooking the estate.
“The Stuart patriarch spent the entire evening measuring me.”
“Not because he admired me…”
“But because he fears what I represent.”
Ethan nodded.
“Our surveillance also suggests he left the gala earlier than expected.”
Damian gave a small, amused chuckle.
“He couldn’t bear watching Theodore look at me with pride.”
A brief silence followed.
Ethan finally spoke.
“Should we be concerned?”
Damian slipped one hand into his pocket.
“No.”
“They’re reacting exactly as I expected.”
He looked out across the sprawling Raymond grounds.
“When your enemies begin talking more about you than themselves…”
“It means you’ve already occupied space in their minds.”
His expression turned cold.
“And a distracted enemy…”
“…is far easier to defeat.”
Ethan inclined his head.
“I’ll continue monitoring the Stuarts.”
“Do that.”
Damian’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
“Their jealousy will make them impatient.”
“And impatient men…”
He allowed himself another faint scoff.
“…are the easiest to manipulate.”
The forensic laboratory was unusually quiet.
Inside the medical examiner’s conference room, several investigators gathered around a stainless-steel table as the chief medical examiner entered carrying a fresh toxicology report.
The room fell silent.
The lead investigator looked up.
“Please tell me you’ve got something.”
The examiner placed the report on the table.
“We do.”
Everyone straightened in their seats.
“The unidentified substance recovered from Natalie Stuart’s stomach has been identified.”
He opened the file.
“It is a rare toxic compound.”
A detective frowned.
“Cause of death?”
The examiner nodded slowly.
“It significantly contributed to her death.”
Another investigator leaned forward.
“How long had it been in her system?”
The medical examiner adjusted his glasses before answering.
“Based on the concentration found in her organs, hair samples, and tissue analysis…”
He paused.
“…this wasn’t a single dose.”
The room grew still.
“She had been exposed repeatedly over a prolonged period.”
“How long?”
The examiner looked down at the report.
“Our estimate is approximately two years.”
Silence.
One detective blinked.
“Two… years?”
The examiner nodded.
“The poison accumulated gradually.”
“It was administered in very small amounts.”
“So small that its effects could easily be mistaken for ordinary illness or fatigue.”
Another investigator slowly sat back in disbelief.
“Which means…”
“…someone had been poisoning her for years.”
“That is our conclusion.”
The lead investigator folded his arms.
“It couldn’t have been random.”
“No.”
The examiner shook his head.
“To administer this poison consistently for that length of time, the person responsible would have needed regular access to Natalie’s food, drinks, or medication.”
He closed the report.
“In other words…”
“It was most likely someone close to her.”
A detective began listing possibilities.
“A family member.”
“A housekeeper.”
“A close friend.”
“Someone at work.”
The examiner nodded.
“Anyone who had frequent, trusted access to her daily routine.”
The room fell quiet again.
One of the younger investigators glanced at the evidence board where Rebecca’s photograph was pinned beside Natalie’s.
He spoke cautiously.
“Rebecca and Natalie worked in completely different industries.”
Everyone looked at him.
“They weren’t coworkers.”
“They didn’t live together.”
“As far as we know, Rebecca wasn’t involved in Natalie’s daily life.”
Another detective slowly nodded.
“If Natalie was being poisoned every day for two years…”
“…Rebecca couldn’t have been the one administering it.”
The lead investigator stared thoughtfully at the photographs.
“So what was that fight really about?”
No one answered.
The medical examiner broke the silence.
“The physical altercation between them may have been completely unrelated to the poisoning.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, the lead investigator spoke.
“I think we’ve been looking at this case from the wrong angle.”
He walked toward the evidence board.
“We assumed Rebecca was our prime suspect because she was the last known person to fight with Natalie.”
He tapped the toxicology report against the board.
“But this changes everything.”
He looked around the room.
“If someone has been poisoning Natalie for two years…”
“…then her death didn’t begin the day she fought Rebecca.”
“It began long before that.”
Another investigator nodded thoughtfully.
“And if that’s true…”
“…then maybe Rebecca wasn’t the killer.”
The room remained silent as that possibility settled over everyone.
The lead investigator took a slow breath.
“We’re no longer investigating a simple death following a public altercation.”
He looked once more at the photographs of Natalie and Rebecca.
“We may be dealing with a much deeper conspiracy.”
“And if Rebecca is innocent…”
His expression hardened.
“…then the real murderer has had a two-year head start.”
- Writer
