The broken

ied him with empty eyes and a heart full of questions. But what she did next... No one-not even his own family-could've seen it coming. She had never worn a weddi

st signed up to be a witness to death. The ride to the house was silent. Samantha sat in the backseat beside Mason's wheelchair, folded and still. Elaine drove, her hands tight around the steering wheel, and the car moved like it was trying not to disturb the air. The mansion they arrived at was far too big for three people. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. A grand piano no one touched. Everything inside screamed wealth, yet nothing felt alive. Samantha was shown to the guest room across the hall from Mason's. "This is just formality," Elaine said with a smile that didn't touch her eyes. "No one expects anything from you. Just... be kind to him. Keep him company. That's all."

n't have any issues." Her tone was firm, almost rehearsed. Samantha nodded, fingers resting on the envelope but not opening it. "What kind of complications?" she asked. Elaine's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're not his nurse, Samantha. You're not his wife in the traditional sense either. There's no need for emotional entanglement. Mason is... delicate. We simply want him to be comfortable, not confused." It was clear. They didn't want her to love him. They didn't want him to hope. Samantha rose quietly, left the envelope untouched, and stepped out of the room. She wasn't sure what hurt more-that they didn't expect her to care, or that part of her was starting to. The sky turned gray that evening, and the first drops of rain tapped against the wide windows. Samantha brought a cup of tea to Mason's room, unasked. He didn't speak, but he didn't push it away either. She set it down gently on the side table and turned to leave when she heard it-a sound so soft she almost missed it. A chuckle. She turned around. Mason was looking at the cup, his lips curved ever so slightly. Not a full smile. Just the ghost of one. But it was enough to stop her in her tracks. "You think it's funny?" she asked quietly. He nodded. Barely. Just once. Then he whispered, voice hoarse and unused, "You didn't poison it... right?" It was a joke. A dark one. But it was a sentence. The first sentence. Samantha stared at him, half in shock, half in disbelief. And then, she smiled too. For the first time since she arrived in that house, something felt alive. The next morning, Samantha woke with a strange feeling in her chest-one she hadn't known in weeks. Curiosity. She carried Mason's tea to his room again. This time, he was awake before she knocked. "You're early," he rasped, his voice clearer than yesterday. She stepp