I Refuse to Be Your Toy

A woman in a couture gown collapsed at the threshold of my holistic apothecary.

I spent the entire night performing targeted acupuncture, brewing custom herbal decoctions, and pulling her back from the brink of death.

When her fiancé finally arrived, his only reaction was a cold, accusatory sneer: "You drugged her, didn't you?"

It was only then that I realized she was Wendy Sheffield, the crown jewel of Manhattan’s elite.

Once she regained consciousness, she looked at me with patronizing charity. "Close your little shop," she said. "I have an estate in the Hudson Valley.