The Killer Behind His Golden Smile Chapter 1

It has been exactly seven days since I moved into the new bedroom.

Mom pushed the door open, froze the second she saw me up and moving around, and blurted out the words before she could stop herself: "How are you still fine?"

This room—the "Princess Suite," as she called it—had cost her a fortune to renovate.

When she first pitched the idea to me, she claimed the contractors were using cutting-edge, antibacterial materials that would work wonders for my chronic asthma.

But I clearly remembered standing in the hallway weeks ago, overhearing her tell the head contractor that this specific batch of materials had formaldehyde levels hundreds of times over the legal limit. A healthy person sleeping in here for a single night would develop acute pulmonary edema.

She had even installed a heavy-duty lock on the outside of my door. Her excuse? "I don't want your brother going in there and messing up your clean air."

For the past week, she had come to my door every single day, asking if my throat felt scratchy. Asking if I was having trouble breathing.

* * *

Her question hung in the air like a shard of ice, instantly piercing through my carefully crafted veneer of calm.

The blood drained from my mother’s face, leaving her pale and ghostly. She stared at me, a frantic, desperate panic swimming in her eyes—a look I had never seen before. "I... I just meant, I meant why hasn't your asthma cleared up completely yet?"

It was a pathetic lie. So painfully clumsy that I didn't even have the energy to call her out on it.

Just then, a smooth, gentle voice drifted in from behind me. "Mom, you really need to stop worrying so much. Paige’s condition is going to take time to heal."

It was my older brother, Wesley.

He was wearing a crisp white button-down, looking every inch the flawless golden boy. His effortless perfection only made my mother’s anxious cowering feel all the more grotesque.

She rubbed her hands together nervously, looking for all the world like a reprimanded child. She didn't dare meet my eyes again.

"I'll go start dinner," she muttered, practically fleeing the doorway as if she couldn't get away from my room fast enough.

"Paige, don't mind her," Wesley said softly, his voice a soothing balm. "Mom is just under a lot of pressure right now. She loves you so much."

Loves me?

A bitter laugh echoed in my head. If she loves me, why is she waiting for me to die?

Later that night, my mother voluntarily knocked on my door for the first time. She came in carrying a plate of sliced fruit, forcing a stiff, ingratiating smile. "Paige, honey... why don't you switch rooms with your brother for a bit? With all this new furniture in here, I really think the room needs a few more days to air out."

I stared at her, alarm bells shrieking in my mind.

Was this it? Was she trying to lure me out so she could tamper with the room again, ensuring I wouldn't have a single chance of surviving my next night in here?

"No thanks," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "I think it’s perfect in here. It smells great."

I deliberately emphasized the word great.

I saw her hand violently jerk. A slice of apple tumbled off the plate and hit the hardwood floor.

I thought my refusal would make her back off. But I was wrong. Around eleven o'clock that night, just as I was drifting off, I heard the faint click of the door latch.

Bathed in the weak moonlight filtering through the window, I watched my door slowly creep open. A dark silhouette slipped into my room.

It was Mom.

She was clutching a heavy-duty spray bottle. Moving methodically, she began misting my headboard, my closet, my desk.

The liquid settled into the air, bringing with it a sharp, corrosive chemical stench that burned the back of my nose.

My heart hammered against my ribs. My palms were slick with cold sweat.

After she finished spraying, she didn't leave immediately. She just stood there in the center of the room. Even in the pitch black, I could feel the suffocating weight of her gaze locked onto my body in the bed.

Every hair on the back of my neck stood up.

Silent as a ghost, she finally backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

The second she was gone, I clamped my hands over my nose and mouth.

A heavy, terrifying realization crushed the breath out of my lungs.

My mother really wants to kill me.