Growing Suspicion

Beverly's POV

I stood in the doorframe of Davis's home

office, my hand frozen mid-knock, drinking in the scene in front of me: Davis

was leaning in toward Alexis, their heads bent together over some document on

his desk. The soft light of the afternoon sun streamed in through the window

above them, casting a golden glow over the scene; an image of domestic

tranquility that made my stomach roil.

"Davis?" I called, plastering on

a smile as they both looked up. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Davis's face brightened. "Beverly!

Not at all, come in. Alexis and I were just going over some physical therapy

reports."

I stepped into the room, my heels clicking

against the hardwood floor. As I approached, Alexis straightened up, her ever-present

gentle smile in place.

"Ms. Stone," she said, extending

her warmth to me. "Isn't it nice to see you? I'm making a new pot of tea.

Would you like a cup?"

"No, thank you," I said,

probably a little too abruptly. I softened my voice and added, "I just

stopped by to see if Davis wanted to join me for dinner tonight."

Davis's face fell slightly. "Oh, I'm

sorry, Beverly. I have a conference call with our Tokyo office later this

evening. Rain check?"

I nodded, hoping that my disappointment

didn't show. "Of course. This weekend, perhaps?"

"Absolutely," he agreed,

reaching out to squeeze my hand. The gesture, once so natural between us, now

felt forced.

As I turned to leave, I caught sight of

Alexis watching our interaction, her face a mask of polite interest. But for a

split second, I thought I saw something else flicker in her eyes, triumph?

Satisfaction? Whatever it was, it was gone before I could be sure.

The ride home was a fog of lights and car

horns, my mind sprinting through things I couldn't exactly put into words. Back

at my apartment, I was a little bundle of energy, nervous. Kicking my heels

off, I paced the length of my living room, repeating the scene in Davis's

office over in my head.

And why should it have bothered me so much

to see them working together? Alexis was Davis's caregiver, after all. It was

natural for them to spend time together, to develop a rapport. Yet the ease of

their interaction, the way Davis's eyes had lit up when she spoke, had gnawed

at me.

I collapsed onto my couch, reached for my

phone before I could talk myself out of it. The line rang twice before a now, familiar

voice answered.

"Clementina? Beverly. Can you hear

me? Do you have a minute to talk?

Twenty minutes later, I sat across from

Clementina at a wine bar, a glass of Cabernet in my hand. The low hum of

conversation surrounding us was a comforting backdrop as I struggled to

articulate my concerns.

"I just can't get this feeling out of

my head that something's not quite right," I admitted, tracing the rim of

my wine glass. "Alexis seems perfect. Too perfect, maybe."

An eyebrow arched, Clementina took a sip

of her drink. "Too perfect? Beverly, she's a professional. Of course,

she's good at her job."

I shook my head, frustration welling up in

me. "It's more than that. The way she looks at Davis, the way he responds

to her. It's like I'm being pushed out of my own relationship."

The tension in Clementina's face eased.

"I know this has been hard for you," she said with just the right

amount of softness. "Davis's accident changed everything. It's natural to

feel just a little displaced."

"Displaced," I said, trying out

the word on my tongue, making it feel bitter. "That's what this is?

"Think about it," she continued,

"Davis is in a place of vulnerability. He is dependent upon Alexis for

needs, for support while he's recovering. There is bound to be a close

attachment. But that does not mean it is romantic in nature nor threatens your

relationship."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to

discard my suspicion as an unfiltered spec of jealousy or insecurity. Yet, the

nagging wouldn't go away.

"Have you run a background check on

her?" I asked abruptly.

Clementina looked taken aback. "Of

course. It's standard procedure for all employees, especially those in such

close contact with Davis. Alexis's record is spotless. Excellent references,

impressive qualifications. There were no red flags whatsoever."

I deflated slightly, my fledgling theory

losing steam. "I see."

"Beverly," Clementina said,

leaning forward, "I think what you're feeling is completely normal. But

try to remember that Alexis is here to help Davis recover. That's good for him,

which means it's good for you too."

I nodded, forcing a smile. "You're

right, of course. I'm probably just being paranoid."

As we finished our drinks and said our

goodbyes, I was relieved, yet a lingering unease remained. Clementina's words

had made sense, and yet.

The following morning, I showed up at

Davis's penthouse much earlier than I normally do, carrying along a bag of

freshly baked croissants from his favorite bakery. The sound of the elevator

doors opening faded into the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen.

I paused in the hallway and listened.

Davis's deep chuckle mingled with Alexis's softer tones, a harmony that sent a

pang through my chest. Taking a deep breath, I rounded the corner.

"Good morning!" I called out, perhaps a bit too brightly.

Davis and Alexis were seated on the island

in the kitchen with mugs of coffee in front of them. Davis's face lit up as he

saw me standing there, but I couldn't help but notice just how lax he was, just

how comfortable he was around Alexis.

"Beverly! How nice to see you,"

he said warmly. "Are those from Magnolia's?"

I nodded, setting the bag down on the

counter. "I thought we could have breakfast together."

"How thoughtful," Alexis added,

already turning to head to where the plates were kept. "I'll just get

these set up and leave you two to enjoy your meal."

"You don't have to leave," Davis

said quickly. "Join us Alexis. There's plenty to go around."

I bit back a protest, forcing a smile as

Alexis hesitated. "Yes, please do," I heard myself say.

We sat down to eat once, and the

interactions all morning between Davis and Alexis did not go unnoticed. She

would anticipate his needs, reach for the butter before he could ask. Inside

jokes, they seemed to share, references to conversations I hadn't been part of.

The gentle way she touched his arm when emphasizing a point.

By the time I left, my initial

apprehension had grown into an outright suspicion. Though I could still hear

the reassuring words of Clementina in my head, little were they doing to dampen

the rapidly growing conviction that something was quite wrong.

Over the next several weeks, I continued

to visit Davis's penthouse more and more frequently, just dropping by

unannounced. Each time, there was a warm smile and polite conversation awaiting

me. Alexis was always so kind, always offering to give Davis and me privacy.

Yet beneath that serene exterior, I sensed something else, a calculation in her

eyes, as if every word and every gesture was weighed.

One afternoon, I came in to find Davis

napping in his study. Alexis met me in the hall, her voice low.

"Mr. Anderson had a tough physical

therapy session this morning," she said. "He's resting now, but I

know he'll be glad to see you when he wakes up."

I nodded, and my gaze fell upon a piece of

paper clutched in her hand. "What's that?

Alexis looked down, as though only now she

remembered holding something. "Oh, just some notes from today's session. I

like keeping detailed records of Mr. Anderson's progress."

"May I see them?" I asked, extending my hand.

A flicker of something danced across

Alexis' features. Surprise? Concern? It was gone in the space of a second,

shoved aside for her usual benign mask. "Of course," she said,

handing the paper over. "Though I'm afraid my handwriting isn't the neatest."

I scanned the document, taking in the

fastidious notes on Davis's exercises, his pain levels, his mood throughout the

session. It was exactly what it purported to be , a thorough record of his

therapy. And yet, the level of detail, the intimate knowledge of Davis's

thoughts and feelings, set my teeth on edge.

"Thank you," I said, handing it

back. "It's good to see how comprehensive your care is."

Alexis smiled, folding the paper and

tucking it into her pocket. "Mr. Anderson's well-being is of the utmost importance, and I am glad that this may be a way for me to help in his recovery."

I walked out of there that day, knowing

very well my mind was already set. Clementina might think my concerns were

baseless, but I couldn't help it: there was something to Alexis more than what

one saw. Just the perfection she was, or how so considerate she would be, doing

the things that would seem like she knew everything Davis needed or wanted,the

feeling was just bad.

I sat at my dining room table that

evening, a notebook open before me. I began to jot down everything I'd observed

about Alexis, her habits, schedule, the way she interacted with Davis and

others. I was going to find something out, if it was to be found.

I knew I was skating on thin ice. If I was

wrong, if my suspicions were ill-founded, I would risk damaging my relationship

with Davis beyond all repair. But if I was right, if Alexis wasn't who she made

out to be, I couldn't bear the thought of Davis in his vulnerable state.

As I had written, my mind began to

formulate a plan. I knew I would have to tread with care, subtly observe. It

went without saying that Alexis couldn't be tipped to my suspicions of her. But

I would be watching her closely. I'd document every inconsistency, every moment

that felt off.

And if my instincts were right, if I

finally found evidence that Alexis wasn't the saint she pretended to be, I would be prepared. I would protect Davis, no matter what it would cost.

I shut the notebook, my chest settling

with determination and apprehension as I closed it. The weeks ahead would call

for all my wit and patience. I'd have to play the role of the supporting,

trusting fiancée, yet not take my eyes off Alexis's every move.

Getting ready for bed that night, I saw a

glimmer of myself standing in the mirror. The woman staring back was fatigued

and concerned, yet there was a steely resolution in her eyes that I hadn't seen

in some time.

"Game on, Alexis," I whispered

to my reflection. "Let's see what you're really up to."

With that thought, I slipped into bed, my

mind already racing with plans for the days ahead. Whatever Alexis's true

motives were, whatever threat she might pose to my relationship with Davis, I

would be ready. I had to be. For Davis's sake, and for my own.