The Killer Behind His Golden Smile

Summary

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…