The Vitamin Protocol

Elena hadn't meant to become a corporate spy, but here she was, thirty-eight and emotionally hollowed out, slipping vitamin C supplements into her target's morning smoothie while his golden retriever watched from the doorway. The dog—Barnaby—knew. Dogs always knew.

She'd been infiltrating Arthur's life for six weeks, hired by his business partner to gather evidence of embezzlement. But somewhere along the line, the parameters had blurred. Arthur wasn't just a mark anymore. He made her laugh. He listened when she spoke about her mother's death. He looked at her like she was something precious, not a weapon.

The vitamin regimen had been her cover story—she was a nutrition consultant, optimizing his health while simultaneously dismantling his livelihood. Each morning she placed the supplement array on the counter: vitamin D for his seasonal affective disorder, B-complex for stress, magnesium for sleep. A little portfolio of care that was actually an exercise in betrayal.

"Barnaby likes you better than me," Arthur said yesterday, his voice mild but his eyes searching. "That dog's an excellent judge of character."

Elena had nearly flinched.

Now she stood in his kitchen at dawn, the embezzlement evidence complete on her encrypted drive. Barnaby pressed his warm flank against her leg, whining softly. She looked at the vitamins arranged in their weekly organizer, then at Arthur's bedroom door, slightly ajar.

She could walk away with the money and the evidence. Or she could tell him everything.

Barnaby nudged her hand with his wet nose. The dog was waiting.

Elena swept the vitamins into the trash. She didn't know if love could salvage what she'd done, but she knew for certain that vitamin supplements couldn't fix a deliberately broken heart. And she was tired of breaking things, including herself.

"Arthur," she called, and her voice didn't shake at all. "We need to talk."