The Price of Her Silence

Chapter 5

The air in the room was so thin it felt as though it could be sliced with a knife. The restless needle of the polygraph was the only thing moving, scratching Selena’s frantic heartbeat onto the paper like a seismograph recording an earthquake. Callum’s eyes were two chips of Arctic ice, cold and penetrating, demanding an answer he had decided upon before the question even left his lips. In the corner, Lucien Cross held his breath, while the technician stared at his monitor with the intensity of a surgeon.

"No," Selena whispered, her voice barely audible. Then, as if finding a source of strength from the depths of her despair, she raised her chin and looked straight into her tormentor’s eyes. "No," she repeated, this time her voice echoing with the clarity of a cracked crystal bell—sharp, fragile, but unmistakable. "I did not kill Adrian."

The needle on the machine spiked wildly, drawing brutal, jagged peaks, an explosion of electrical activity that signaled neither lie nor truth, but the storm of pure emotion engulfing her. Rage. Grief. Humiliation. All of it recorded in a single chaotic black ink line.

The technician frowned. "Anomaly," he murmured softly. "Extreme emotional response. The results are inconclusive."

Callum didn't take his eyes off Selena. A thin, cold, humorless smile touched his lips. He rose, his movement graceful and lethal as a panther. "Release her," he ordered the technician.

The man moved quickly, peeling the sensors and cuff from Selena’s body. Every touch felt like a new violation, leaving a chill on her skin. Once free, Selena rubbed her wrists, refusing to show how badly her hands were trembling.

"Inconclusive results," Callum repeated, his voice mocking. He walked back to the window, staring out at the gray London skyline. "You’re either good at lying, Ward, or you simply don’t care what you say." He turned, his eyes flashing. "Take her back to the manor. I have other matters to attend to."

---

That night, in a penthouse overlooking the Thames, which shimmered like a ribbon of black silk, Gideon Hale sipped his brandy. The air here felt different from Callum’s sterile office or the stifling Attwood Manor. The air here smelled of true power—power that didn't need to be displayed.

"The test results are inconclusive," Gideon reported, his voice as flat as ever. "Callum is growing frustrated. That is good. A frustrated man makes mistakes."

The figure sitting opposite him, concealed in the shadows of a deep leather chair, laughed softly. The laugh was gentle, cultured, but held an unnerving edge. "Callum always makes mistakes when it comes to emotion," the figure said. "That is his weakness. He feels with his heart, not his brain. Like my father."

The figure leaned forward, moving into the dim light of the table lamp. His face was thinner than the world remembered, but his sharp blue eyes still danced with dangerous intelligence. Adrian Attwood, the man who was supposed to be ashes in a porcelain urn, set his glass on the table.

"What is the next step you wish to take, Adrian?" Gideon asked, a thin layer of respect slipping into his usually emotionless tone.

"I want you to leak some 'dubious' financial documents to Lucien," Adrian commanded, swirling his glass. "Enough to make him suspicious of the board of directors, but not enough to point directly to me or Mother. Let Callum waste his time chasing ghosts within his own company. I want him to feel betrayed by everyone."

"And the girl? Selena?"

Adrian’s eyes darkened for a moment. "Keep the pressure on her. Make sure she feels isolated. Callum will become more protective, and the more protective he becomes, the more irrational he will appear to the board. Selena is the perfect catalyst. She is the spark that will burn the whole house down from the inside."

"She is strong," Gideon noted, a rare observation from him. "She won't break easily."

"I know," Adrian countered, his smile returning. "That’s why I chose her. A martyr must have a strong backbone, mustn’t he, Gideon? Just ensure you keep reminding her about her sister. Clara is both her anchor and her chain."

---

Selena paced her room in Attwood Manor. The silence of the house was more terrifying than a scream. Every creak of the floorboards was the step of a ghost, every rustle of wind at the window was a whispered accusation. The polygraph experience had ripped something open inside her, leaving a wound raw and exposed.

She had to know Clara was all right. She couldn't trust Callum's promises. With trembling hands, she reached for the phone on the nightstand—a phone she knew was dead—and lifted the receiver out of futile habit. Of course, there was no dial tone.

Helpless anger burned her. She threw the receiver back into place with a muffled thud. That’s when she heard it. Muffled voices from the hallway. One was Callum’s, sharp and impatient. The other was lower, sounding anxious and pleading.

Driven by reckless curiosity, Selena opened her door slightly, just a narrow crack to peer through. In the glow of the dim wall sconce, she saw Callum facing a nervous middle-aged man. The man wore a slightly rumpled suit and carried a worn leather doctor’s bag. His face was pale, and his hands continuously wrung the edges of his jacket. Selena recognized him from several photos in the drawing-room—Dr. Rowan Pierce, the Attwood family physician for decades.

"I've told you, I can't do it, Callum!" Dr. Pierce whispered, his voice shaking. "It’s unethical! And dangerous!"

"I don’t care about your ethics, Rowan!" Callum hissed, his voice low and threatening. "I pay you for loyalty, not moral sermons. You will sign the document and state that all of Adrian's medical records are consistent with the coroner’s report. I want no further questions."

"But the records are not—"

"I was not asking you," Callum cut him off, stepping closer until the doctor was forced to retreat. "I am telling you. Think about your reputation. Think about that comfortable little clinic of yours."

Dr. Pierce swallowed, appearing defeated. "All right," he whispered. "I... I'll review it again."

"Good." Callum patted the doctor's shoulder with a gesture that was falsely amicable yet laced with menace. "Now, leave. And don’t speak to anyone about this."

Callum turned and walked toward his study at the end of the corridor. Dr. Pierce, still visibly trembling, turned to leave in the opposite direction, toward the main staircase. As he hastily turned, his movement was clumsy. Something small and shiny slipped from his jacket pocket, falling silently onto the thick Persian rug covering the floor.

The doctor didn't notice. He continued walking, his pace quick as if chased by demons.

Selena’s heart hammered. She waited, holding her breath, until the sound of the doctor’s steps faded down the staircase. The corridor fell silent again. Through the crack in her door, she could see the small object lying on the carpet's intricate pattern, its faint brass gleam catching the wall lamp's light.

A key. Small and antique.

This was her chance. A foolish, dangerous opportunity, but the only one she had. Cautiously, she opened her door wider and stepped out. The floor felt cold beneath her feet. Every second stretched into an hour. She kept glancing toward Callum’s study, praying he wouldn't emerge.

She walked casually, as though merely stretching her legs, her eyes fixed on the key. When she was directly over it, she bent down, moving as slowly as possible, pretending to adjust a shoelace that wasn't there. Her cold fingers touched the even colder metal. She gripped the key tightly in her palm.

As she straightened up, a voice shattered the silence.

"What are you doing out here?"

Callum’s voice, cold as ice, came from the end of the corridor.