Bailey Douglas POV:
Blinding white light pierced through my heavy eyelids.
I slowly opened my eyes. The harsh glare of the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling forced me to blink rapidly. The rhythmic, mechanical hiss of a ventilator filled the room.
The sharp, chemical stench of bleach and iodine burned my nose. I tried to swallow, but it felt like I was swallowing crushed glass. My throat was raw and torn from the emergency intubation tube they had shoved down my windpipe to keep me alive.
A doctor in blue scrubs stood next to my bed, writing on a clipboard. When he saw my eyes open, his shoulders dropped in a heavy sigh of relief.
He reached over and pressed the nurse call button. "Ms. Douglas, you're awake. You went into severe anaphylactic shock last night. Your heart stopped for nearly a minute in the ambulance. You are very lucky to be breathing."
I tried to lift my right arm to touch my throat. It wouldn't move. I looked down and saw my entire right arm wrapped in thick, heavy white bandages, elevated on a foam block. It felt like it was made of solid lead.
The heavy soundproof door to the ICU swung open.
Maria rushed into the room. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. The moment she saw me awake, she let out a loud sob and threw herself at the side of my bed.
She grabbed my uninjured left hand, pressing it against her wet cheek. "Oh, thank God. Thank God. I was so scared, Bailey. I thought you weren't going to make it."
I looked at her crying face. I forced a weak, trembling smile. My lips cracked. "Thank you," I rasped. My voice sounded like grinding stones.
Growing up in the Douglas house, I was taught never to thank the help. The family believed servants existed to be used. But Maria was the only person in that cold mansion who had ever looked at me like a human being.
The doctor finished writing his notes. "You need to stay in the hospital for at least a week of strict observation. The necrotizing venom is still in your system. If you leave, the tissue damage could spread." He turned and walked out of the room.
The room fell quiet, save for the hum of the machines.
Maria wiped her face with a tissue. Her sadness suddenly morphed into fierce, trembling anger. "They didn't come, Bailey."
I stared at the ceiling. I didn't say anything.
"I called them over twenty times last night," Maria cried, her voice shaking with rage. "Finally, Kane answered the phone. I told him you were dying. Do you know what he said?"
My heart monitor beeped in a steady, unbroken rhythm. I already knew.
"He said, 'Let her die,' and hung up the phone." Maria choked on a sob. "They rented out the entire VIP floor of St. Jude's Private Hospital across town. They brought in plastic surgeons. For a scrape on Haleigh's forehead. A scrape!"
I looked at the white fluorescent lights. My eyes were completely dry. There was no pain left in my chest. No anger. Just a vast, frozen wasteland.
On the bedside table, a cheap burner phone suddenly vibrated. The screen lit up. Maria had brought it from my room.
She picked it up and handed it to me, her eyes hopeful. "Maybe it's Mr. Jameson. Maybe he finally realized..."
I took the phone with my left hand. I swiped the screen open. It wasn't Jameson. It was an encrypted text message from Abernathy.
[Island preliminary screening complete. Background checks initiated. However, the trust liquidation has a deficit. You are three million dollars short for the purchase.]
My pupils dilated. Three million dollars. It was the only wall standing between me and my freedom.
I stared at the screen. My brain rapidly calculated my options. I would rather die than touch a single cent of the Douglas family's money.
Then, a name I had buried three years ago flashed in my mind.
*Hale.*
It was my mother's maiden name. It was also the alias I created on the dark web. When I was locked in the Douglas basement for weeks at a time, my only escape was drawing on the concrete walls with pieces of burnt charcoal. That pain had birthed a monster in the art world.
I gripped the phone tightly. My knuckles turned white.
I threw the thin hospital blanket off my body. Ignoring Maria's loud gasp, I swung my heavy, trembling legs over the side of the bed.
The moment my bare feet hit the freezing linoleum floor, my knees buckled. I almost crashed to the ground, but Maria lunged forward and caught my waist.
"Bailey! What are you doing? Get back in bed!" she screamed.
I ground my teeth together. The pain radiating from my right arm was blinding. I reached over with my left hand and grabbed the thick IV needle taped to the back of my hand.
I ripped it out.
A stream of bright red blood instantly spurted out, dripping down my fingers and staining my pure white hospital gown.
Maria shrieked in horror. She grabbed a towel and pressed it against my bleeding hand. "Are you insane? The doctor said you'll die!"
I pressed my thumb hard against the puncture wound to stop the bleeding. I looked Maria dead in the eyes. My gaze was harder than steel.
"If I stay in this bed, I will die in that house," I told her.
I leaned my weight against the cold wall, forcing my spine completely straight. I looked at my pale, ghost-like reflection in the room's mirror.
"Go process the discharge. I have a massive deal to make."
