Page 121 of Porcelain Lies

“Thanks, Boyana. Great visuals,” I mutter.

The second box holds more practical items — compression socks for swelling, belly bands for support. Everything a pregnant woman could need for staying active.

But it’s the third box that makes my breath catch. Scientific journals and textbooks on neuroscience fill it to the brim. Not just any random selection — these are cutting-edge publications I’ve been wanting to read for months. The top journal features an article about new treatments for spinal injuries.

How did he know? We’ve barely spoken about my interests, yet here’s evidence he’s been paying attention. Or having me investigated. The thought should disturb me more than it does.

A larger package catches my eye, wedged behind the others. The label shows it’s meant for the Right Wing. Someone must have misdelivered it.

My heart rate picks up. This could be my chance to explore, to maybe find answers about that hidden door and the medical supplies.

Slipping into some running gear, I grab the misdelivered package and head toward the Right Wing. The connecting pathway feels endless as I jog across to the towering structure. But before I can gather up the nerve to head inside, I hear footsteps as someone strides across the courtyard. A woman in a blue uniform is heading toward the Left Wing.

Shit!

I leave the package at the entrance, not daring to venture further, then turn on my heel and set off down the path at a steady stride.

“You’re such a coward,”Boyana mocks me.

“Zip it,” I say under my breath. The compression leggings hug my body perfectly as I start my laps around the pool. Each stride helps organize my thoughts.

That uniform looked medical. Is someone sick? The medical room upstairs must connect to wherever that nurse was heading. But who needs that level of care? And why keep it so secret?

The questions spin through my mind as I run, each lap bringing new theories but no answers.

I slow my pace as I approach the Left Wing entrance, dabbing sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. The nurse fromearlier stands by the door, her blue uniform crisp despite the morning heat.

“Excuse me,” she calls out. “I saw you with a package earlier?”

“Oh, yes. It was misdelivered to my room.” I gesture toward the Right Wing. “I left it by the entrance over there since it had that wing’s label.”

Her face tightens. “Was it the order from MedTech Solutions?”

“I didn’t check the sender.” MedTech? My mind starts connecting dots. “Was it important?”

“A new sliding mat and sling,” she says, her brow creasing. “I’d better check to see if security picked it up. There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t track it down.”

“Oh heck, I hope it’s not lost. I’m sorry if I caused trouble.” I pinch my lips together.

“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” she says, waving distractedly as she turns away. I watch as she disappears in the direction of the guard house, mulling this over.

A sliding sheet and sling… I remember Dad talking about that sort of stuff when we used to talk about his time at work. You’d use that for someone needing to get out of a wheelchair.

But who around here is in a wheelchair?

“Think, Stella,” I whisper to myself. The medical supplies in the fridge, the hidden door, the woman in the nurse’s uniform, and now wheelchair equipment deliveries.

The pieces start falling into place. Someone in this house needs intensive physical therapy and mobility assistance. Someone Aleksei wants to keep hidden.

Mulling this over silently, I return to my room, stripping off as I move to the shower.

The hot water beats against my shoulders as I try to make sense of it all.

“What do you think, Boyana? Why would Aleksei hide someone who needs that level of care?” I murmur, the shower drowning out the sound of my voice.

“Maybe he’s not as cold as he pretends to be,”my imaginary sister suggests.“Maybe he actually cares about someone.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff as I step out of the shower and dry off using a ridiculously plush towel. “Although, Diana seems to know what’s going on.” I pull on fresh clothes from the delivered packages, the soft fabric clinging comfortably. “She acted like she owned the place when she caught me snooping.”

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