Chapter 2 - The Neon BrandingBy seven o'clock that evening, I sat calmly at my kitchen island, sipping a glass of iced tea while reviewing patent documentation on my tablet. The house was dead quiet, but I knew the storm was approaching.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the glass panes in the entry foyer. Heavy, frantic footsteps pounded down the hallway toward the kitchen.
"Dr. Nora Vance!" Corbin roared, his face flushed and his chest heaving as he burst into the room. "What the hell did you put in the pool?!"
I looked up slowly from my tablet, over the rim of my reading glasses, maintaining absolute, unshakeable composure. "Good evening, Corbin. How was your day?"
"Don't 'good evening' me!" he shrieked, waving his hands violently in the air.
It was then that I noticed his hands. His palms, forearms, and wrists were splotched with brilliant, luminescent neon orange stains. He looked like he had been dipped in industrial hazard dye. But Corbin was nothing compared to the figure that stumbled into the kitchen behind him.
Brielle was weeping hysterically, clutching a bath towel around her shoulders. Every inch of exposed skin—from her face and neck to her legs and arms—was stained an impossibly bright, radioactive shade of orange. Her fake tan had reacted violently with Type 7, turning her into a glowing, neon spectacle.
"Look at me!" Brielle wailed, her voice cracking into high-pitched screeches. "I'm ruined! I have an influencer launch event tomorrow night! What did you do to me, you psycho?!"
I set my tablet down on the quartz countertop with a soft, deliberate click. "I didn't do anything to you, Brielle. You broke into a private residence, utilized private property without authorization, and contaminated my pool water with low-grade, counterfeit cosmetic chemicals."
"You poisoned us!" Corbin bellowed, stepping toward me with his fists clenched. "I’m calling the police! I’m going to have you arrested for assault!"
"Go ahead," I said smoothly, pulling a crisp white folder out of my briefcase and sliding it across the island. "Call them. In fact, let's call the local board of health, too. That folder contains the full Safety Data Sheet for Type 7. It is non-toxic, eco-friendly, and dermatologically harmless. It is merely a chemical indicator that reacts to unauthorized synthetic contaminants."
Corbin grabbed the folder, his eyes darting across the technical jargon and chemical formulas. His face turned pale beneath his neon orange splotches.
"You're crazy," Brielle sobbed, grabbing Corbin's arm. "Corbin, do something! Tell her to give us the antidote!"
"There is no antidote," I smiled coldly. "The dye binds at a cellular level with the stratum corneum. You'll just have to wait twenty-one days for your skin to naturally regenerate. Though I imagine attending your executive meetings and influencer galas looking like a glowing traffic cone might prove somewhat inconvenient."
"You did this on purpose," Corbin whispered, his voice trembling as reality began to sink in. "You were here today."
"I came home to celebrate my company's contract," I said, standing up and pulling my blazer around my shoulders. "Instead, I found my husband entertaining his mentee in the pool I paid for, using the house I built. So consider this your first formal lesson in biochemistry, Corbin: every action has an equal and opposite reaction."
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I picked up my car keys and walked toward the garage door, stopping briefly at the threshold to look back at the horrified pair.
"I’m staying at a hotel tonight," I added quietly. "When I return tomorrow morning, I expect both of you—and your glowing neon complexions—off my property."
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