Married To The Comatose Tech Emperor

The camera flashes blinded the reporters at the press conference. Gina stood on the stage, wearing the midnight blue gown. She smiled perfectly. She answered every question with flawless, rehearsed grace. The next evening, the New York tabloids hit the stands. Gina. Hailie sat on the edge of her four-poster bed. She held a newspaper in her trembling hands. She screamed and ripped the paper in half. She tore the photo of Gina into tiny, jagged pieces and threw them onto the floor. "Trisha." Hailie yelled. The young maid scurried into the room, her head bowed. Hailie opened the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a thick stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills. She shoved the money into Trisha. Then, Hailie reached into the bottom compartment of her makeup box. She pulled out a tiny, unlabeled glass vial. Clear liquid sloshed inside. "Put this in her dinner tonight." Hailie whispered. Her eyes were wide and manic. "It is a hallucinogen. It will make her lose her mind completely. They will lock her back in the asylum tomorrow." Trisha looked at the thick stack of cash. She swallowed hard. Her fingers curled tightly around the glass vial. She nodded and slipped the vial into her apron pocket. Back in her small guest room, thirty minutes before dinner, Gina had carefully peeled back the rubber sole of her canvas shoe. From a microscopic waterproof pouch hidden inside, she had extracted a tiny, clear pill-her final line of defense developed during her years in the asylum's underground lab. She had slipped it securely under her tongue, anticipating their next move. Dinner was served at eight o'clock. The long oak dining table was empty except for Gina. She sat at the very end, staring at the polished wood. Trisha walked out of the kitchen. She carried a silver tray. On the tray was a porcelain bowl of steaming black truffle mushroom soup. Trisha. Her hands shook violently. She set the bowl down in front of Gina. The silver spoon rattled against the porcelain with a loud clink. Gina slowly raised her eyes. She looked at Trisha. Trisha quickly looked down at her shoes. "The chef made this specially for you, Miss." Trisha stuttered. Gina picked up the silver spoon. She dipped it into the thick, dark soup. She stirred it once. The hot steam rose into the air. Gina inhaled. Beneath the heavy, earthy smell of the truffles, her nose caught something else. It was a faint, sharp, chemical bitterness. Gina. She had spent five years in the asylum operating as an underground surgeon and chemist. Her brain instantly broke down the molecular structure of the smell. It was a high-purity LSD derivative. A massive overdose. Enough to cause permanent psychosis and terrifying visual hallucinations. Gina did not stop stirring. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move on the second-floor landing. Hailie was hiding behind the banister, watching. A microscopic smirk touched the corner of Gina. She brought her left hand up to her mouth, pretending to cough. Under the cover of her hand, her tongue pushed the hidden broad-spectrum antidote capsule from her cheek to her teeth. She bit down. The capsule shattered. The bitter, neutralizing liquid burned down her throat. Gina lowered her hand. She scooped up a large spoonful of the poisoned soup. She put it in her mouth and swallowed. She ate the entire bowl. Trisha let out a massive, shaky breath. Gina put the spoon down. She reached up and pressed her fingers hard against her temples. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a soft groan, swaying slightly in her chair. Trisha turned and practically sprinted up the stairs to tell Hailie the job was done. Gina stood up. She dragged her feet, stumbling slightly as she walked back to her small guest room. She pushed the door shut and locked it. The moment the lock clicked, Gina. Her posture snapped straight. Her eyes opened. They were clear, sharp, and completely focused. The poison was already neutralized in her stomach. Even without the antidote, her body had endured so many chemical trials in the asylum that this dose would barely give her a headache. Gina walked to the window. Outside, thick black clouds rolled over New York. Lightning flashed, followed by the deep rumble of thunder. A storm was breaking. Gina pulled her suitcase from under the bed. She unzipped a hidden waterproof compartment. She pulled out a micro-Bluetooth speaker, an infrared smart bulb, and a folded piece of white fabric. She shook the fabric out. It was an old, blood-stained maid. It belonged to Aine, the maid Hailie had pushed down the stairs five years ago. Gina looked at the uniform. If Hailie wanted to play with hallucinations. Gina would give them a nightmare they would never wake up from. She began to wire the room.