Briana Bond POV:
They rushed me to the nearest small-town hospital, a place that felt miles away from the modern, gleaming facilities I was used to. The doctor, a kind-faced man with tired eyes, examined my leg with a somber expression. His words, when they came, were a death knell to any lingering hope.
"The frostbite is severe, Briana," he said gently, his voice heavy with regret. "The infection has spread deep into the tissue. We have to amputate."
My world tilted. Amputate? My leg? My mind reeled. "If we don't," he continued, "the infection will only worsen, and you could lose the entire limb, or worse, your life. Your digestive system is also severely compromised from the prolonged starvation. It will be a long, difficult road to recovery, even if we proceed with the surgery."
Gabriel, who had been pacing impatiently, stopped dead. "Amputate?" he roared, his voice splitting the quiet room. He kicked over a nearby chair with a violent crash. "What kind of quack are you? There has to be another way!"
Candace glided to his side, her hand resting gently on his arm. "Gabriel, darling, please calm down," she murmured, her voice a soothing, deceptive purr. "He's just a small-town doctor. Perhaps his skills aren't... up to par. My brother, Cory, he's a top physical therapist in the capital. He could recommend the best specialists. We should take Briana back to the city."
Gabriel, still seething, seemed to consider her words. His anger, though still present, began to cool slightly under her influence. "Fine," he bit out, his jaw tight. "Get her ready. I don't care what it costs; I want the best doctors, the best treatment. She will not lose her leg."
The journey back to the city was a blur of pain, fear, and a dull, growing resentment. I barely registered the transfer, the new hospital, the gleaming halls. All I knew was the persistent ache, the throbbing in my leg, and the cold dread in my heart.
Cory Coleman, Candace' s brother, was indeed a renowned physical therapist in the capital. He entered my room with an air of arrogant confidence, a stark contrast to the small-town doctor' s genuine concern. He barely glanced at my leg, his eyes dismissive, a sneer playing on his lips. "This? This is nothing," he declared, his voice dripping with condescension. "A few scrapes, a little frostbite. Nothing a bit of rest and some cream won't fix." He scoffed at the idea of internal organ damage. "Just malnourished, trying to garner sympathy, aren't we?" he added, his gaze flicking to Gabriel, a silent accusation hanging in the air.
Gabriel hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. He remembered the gruesome sight of my mangled leg, the deep gash, the purple bone. It didn't look like "a few scrapes." But Candace was there, her hand slipping into his, her touch soft and reassuring.
"Gabriel, don't worry," she cooed, her voice sweet as honey. "Cory is the best. He knows what he's talking about." She turned to her brother, her eyes flashing briefly with a triumphant glint. "But darling, you must protect Gabriel too. He's been so worried about my drawing hand."
Cory, catching his sister's cue, immediately launched into a tirade. "You, Gabriel, should have protected Candace better! Her hands are precious. They're her livelihood, her art!" He dramatized the importance of her 'delicate' hands, hinting at irreparable damage.
Candace then played her part to perfection. "Oh, it wasn't Briana's fault, Cory! I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt me." She looked at Gabriel, her eyes wide and mournful. "As long as you're here, Gabriel, I'll be fine, even if I can never draw again."
Gabriel's attention was immediately snared. He squeezed her hand, his face filled with tenderness. "You will draw again, Candace," he vowed, his voice firm. "I promise you."
The brother-sister duo had executed their play flawlessly, diverting Gabriel's attention entirely from my critical condition to Candace's minor, self-inflicted injuries. I watched them, a dull, familiar ache spreading through my chest. This dance, this manipulation, I knew it all too well.
It played out in my mind again, the memory so vivid it was like a fresh wound. The yacht party, the sudden storm. We were arguing, a familiar pattern. She hated me, hated my presence in Gabriel's life. "You think you belong here?" she'd hissed, her face contorted with jealousy. "You're nothing but a charity case!"
Then came the lurch, the sudden terrifying tilt of the yacht. In a flash, she lunged, her hands pushing hard against my chest. I lost my footing, stumbled, and went sprawling over the railing. But not before a desperate, instinctual grab. My hand shot out, catching her arm, pulling her down with me. Her eyes widened in shock, a gasp escaping her lips as her arms twisted at an unnatural angle. A sickening crack echoed even over the wind and waves. She went down, but I went over. Tumbling into the icy abyss.
As I plummeted, my body striking the churning waves, the last thing I heard was her voice, shrill and venomous. "Die, Briana! Die on this godforsaken mountain!" She knew about the wild animals, the treacherous conditions. She wanted me gone, swallowed by the storm. I hit a rock, a blinding white-hot pain exploding in my leg. My body was a crumpled heap against the jagged, icy shore. I tried to move, but I couldn' t. My broken body was useless.
