Episode 4

It had been two hours since I left the operating room.

Two hours.

And no one had said a single word to me.

No one came to find me. No one told me what to do. Not even to tell me that I could rest, eat, leave... live.

I was alone in a room that looked like it was taken from a luxury hotel: king bed, soft sheets, walls covered with beige wallpaper, and carved oak furniture. There was even a private bathroom with an antique porcelain bathtub that gleamed like a jewel.

But it was a cage.

A cage disguised as a five-star suite.

I got out of the bed where I had been sitting, unable to sleep or relax. I walked to the door, which wasn't locked, and left, feeling the tension accompany me like a shadow as I stepped into the hallway.

I walked through the corridors of the mansion with slow steps. The silence was so dense that I could hear the creaking of the wood under my feet. The lights were dim, warm, and the air smelled of lavender and old wax. I was surprised at how free the path was. No one stopped me. No one escorted me. It was as if they trusted that I wouldn't try to escape.

And for the moment... they were right.

As I walked down a marble staircase, I came across a long corridor decorated with old paintings. Family portraits, no doubt. One after another. Women in expensive dresses, men in period suits or military uniforms. All elegant. All cold. None of them smiled.

Not a single one.

Something about those images disturbed me. There was rigidity in their faces. As if they were forced to be there, as if their souls had been trapped alongside the paint.

I kept walking until I reached what must have been the heart of the mansion: a main hall.

The ceiling was very high, with exposed beams and a huge stone fireplace that dominated the back wall. In front of it, velvet sofas, an impeccable Persian rug, and a black grand piano that seemed to have never been played.

But what caught my attention was what hung over the fireplace.

A painting, or rather the painting of paintings.

He. The man I had just operated on, was standing, dressed in a tailored black suit, like a king without a crown. In front of him, sitting in an emerald green silk dress that hugged her waist and cascaded to the floor, was she. His mother.

The same woman who had received me and threatened me.

Her posture was impeccable, with one hand crossed on her lap, and the other barely touching the arm of the chair. He had a hand on her shoulder, as if protecting her or, perhaps, possessing her. They both looked ahead, at the viewer, with that same impassive expression I saw in all the portraits. As if they were hiding a secret so dark that no one would dare name.

I stood there, mesmerized.

There was power in that painting. There was history and danger.

Like a warning painted in oil and arrogance.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice startled me.

I took a step back and turned abruptly.

My patient's mother was standing in the doorway, impeccable as always, now dressed in an ivory silk set and fitted jacket. Her hair was gathered in a perfect bun. Not a strand out of place.

"My God..." I muttered, bringing a hand to my chest. "You scared me."

"Calm down, child. I'm not going to do anything to you," she said, walking towards one of the sofas. "Today you saved my son and I will always be grateful for that."

She sat down elegantly, crossing her legs. She watched me with a mixture of serenity and superiority that disarmed me.

I crossed my arms. Not because I wanted to challenge her. But to feel like I still had control over my body, over something.

"When can I leave?"

"When my son is fully recovered."

The answer was immediate. Without drama. As if she had said that tea would be ready at five.

"You can't keep me here. I did what you asked. I operated on him. He's alive and now I want to leave."

The lady looked at me for a few long, calculating seconds. Like a prey that had dared to roar.

"Are you sure you want that?"

"What?"

"To leave. To return to that life where nobody knows you. Where you will have to work ten times harder than a man for them to barely listen to you. Where doors only open if someone with power opens them for you."

I didn't answer immediately.

My heart was beating fast and my thoughts were going too fast.

"Here," she continued. "You could have another life. Luxury. Money. Security. Power. You could be the personal doctor of the Reginald family. Your research funded, your conditions chosen. No one would dare to question you."

"And in exchange for what?" I asked, in a low voice.

"Loyalty," she replied, with a soft smile. "And discretion."

I stood firm.

"Since I started my career, I have known how to command respect. I don't need to hide behind anyone. Or a last name. I earned my place with hours, with blood, with discipline. I don't need to sell myself to obtain fame and money."

Maria leaned back with an expression that, for a second, seemed... amused.

"You have character," she said. "I like that."

"So will you let me go?"

Her smile faded.

"No."

She stood up calmly, adjusting her jacket with an automatic elegance. She walked towards me and, by instinct, I took half a step back.

She stopped in front of me and looked me in the eyes intensely.

"Get my son out of that bed just as he was before," she added in a low voice, with an intensity that chilled my skin. "And then we'll talk about your freedom."

She turned on her heels.

"By the way," she said, without looking back. "I'm Maria Reginald."

And she left the room.

I stood there, motionless. Looking at the painting, looking at the eyes of the man I had just saved, and wondering if now it was me... who needed saving.

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