Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO COULDN'T BE TOUCHED|
For the next three days, Tabitha was assigned to Graham's private wing.
The arrangement made the household uncomfortable.
Mrs. Whitmore stopped speaking whenever Tabitha entered a room. The other maids whispered behind closed doors. Even the kitchen staff seemed convinced she had somehow bewitched the boss.
But Graham didn't seem interested in explaining himself.
He simply expected Tabitha to be there.
Every morning, she brought his breakfast. Every afternoon, she organized the medical supplies his physician insisted he use. At night, she left a glass of water beside his bed.
He rarely thanked her.
Yet he noticed everything.
He noticed that she never entered a room without knocking.
He noticed that she placed his medication on the right side of the table because his injured ribs made reaching across uncomfortable.
And he noticed that she always hummed softly while working.
On Thursday evening, he finally asked about it.
"What are you singing?"
Tabitha stopped arranging the books on his shelf.
"Nothing, sir."
"You've been humming for twenty minutes."
"It's an old song my mother used to sing."
"What's it called?"
"I don't know. She never told me."
Graham looked toward the fireplace.
"Your mother is alive?"
Tabitha's fingers tightened around a book.
"No."
"How old were you?"
"Fourteen."
He didn't ask anything else.
But when she returned the following morning, an old upright piano had been moved into the sitting room.
Tabitha stared at it.
"Who ordered this?"
"I did," Graham answered from behind his desk.
She turned.
"Why?"
"You said your mother sang."
"I did."
"Perhaps you'll remember the song."
Tabitha looked at the piano.
For a moment, the mansion felt less frightening.
Then she noticed something unusual.
Graham was standing beside the window, holding a cup of coffee. His hand was shaking.
"Are you in pain?"
"No."
"Your hand—"
"I said no."
He set the cup down too quickly. Coffee splashed onto his fingers.
Tabitha approached with a cloth.
Graham immediately stepped backward.
"Don't."
She stopped.
He stared at his own hand as if it belonged to someone else.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"Nothing."
But his breathing had changed.
His shoulders were rigid. A thin sheen of sweat appeared along his forehead.
Tabitha recognized the signs of a panic attack.
"Mr. Costa, look at me."
His eyes flashed.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Then don't try to fight your own body."
He looked at her.
She placed the cloth on the table instead of touching him.
"Can you breathe slowly?"
He didn't answer.
"Just follow my breathing."
She inhaled gently.
Then exhaled.
For several seconds, Graham remained motionless.
Eventually, his breathing began to settle.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
"My brother has anxiety attacks since his accident. Sometimes he needs someone to remind him that he's safe."
Graham laughed bitterly.
"Safe."
The word seemed foreign to him.
He walked toward the window.
"When I was twelve, someone grabbed my mother's hand in front of me. A man I trusted. He wanted information about my father. She refused to speak."
Tabitha listened.
"They broke two of her fingers. I watched everything."
His voice became colder.
"After that, my father taught me that anyone who touched you without permission was either an enemy or someone trying to control you."
Tabitha looked at him.
"That's a terrible thing to teach a child."
"It kept me alive."
"Maybe. But it also made you lonely."
He turned sharply.
Nobody had ever said that to him.
For a moment, she thought he would order her out.
Instead, he asked quietly, "Do you think I can change?"
Tabitha considered him.
"I think people change when they finally want something more than they fear losing control."
His eyes remained fixed on her.
Then a knock interrupted them.
Anthony entered carrying a folder.
"Boss, we identified the man who shot you."
Graham's expression became unreadable.
"Who?"
Anthony placed a photograph on the desk.
Tabitha glanced at it.
The photograph showed a middle-aged man with gray hair.
She recognized him immediately.
It was her former employer.
The hotel manager who had dismissed her eleven weeks earlier.
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But the man had died in a car explosion six months ago.
And according to the photograph, he had been working for Graham Costa.
