Bailey Douglas POV:

Mr. Abernathy' s professionally placid expression faltered for just a second. Surprise flickered in his eyes before he masked it with a polite smile. He folded his hands on the polished mahogany desk between us.

"An island, Miss Douglas? Of course. We have several exclusive properties in our portfolio. Do you have a particular region in mind? The Caribbean, perhaps? The South Pacific?"

"The most remote one," I repeated, my voice flat. "A place where no one would think to look. A place where I can disappear."

He watched me for a long moment, taking in my tear-stained face, my trembling hands, the hollow desperation in my eyes. I saw a flicker of pity, but he was too professional to pry. He simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of a pain he didn't need to understand to serve.

"I have just the thing," he said, turning to his computer. "It's a small cay in the Caribbean, virtually uncharted. It's not listed publicly. It was repossessed from a rather… eccentric client. It has a self-sustaining villa, solar power, a water desalination system. But I must be clear, it is utterly isolated. Supplies are delivered by boat only once a month. There is no cell service. The nearest inhabited land is over a hundred nautical miles away."

"Perfect," I whispered. The word was a prayer.

"I'll take it."

He worked with quiet efficiency, his movements betraying the urgency he sensed in me. Documents were printed, deeds were located, and a satellite phone was produced for the transfer of funds from my grandmother' s trust. I signed the papers with a hand that barely shook, the stroke of the pen a final, severing act. The number that flashed on the payment terminal was astronomical, enough to buy a small country, but it felt like nothing. It was the price of freedom.

"The deed will be registered in your new name, as per your request," Mr. Abernathy said, sliding a final document toward me. "And the transport will be ready to depart from the private marina at dawn, two days from now. Will that be sufficient time?"

"It will," I said, my voice a ghost of its former self.

It was dark when the taxi dropped me back at the gates of the Blair estate, the sprawling villa Jameson and I had called home. My home. Or so I had thought.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and was immediately enveloped in a wave of warmth and laughter. The scent of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the air.

And there they were. A perfect family portrait I was no longer a part of.

Jameson was in the kitchen, an apron tied awkwardly around his waist, pulling a tray of roasted potatoes from the oven. He never cooked. In five years, he had never once cooked for me.

Haleigh was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, laughing as she directed him. My brothers were gathered around her like loyal sentinels. Derrick was carefully cutting an apple into thin slices for her. Blake was pouring her a glass of water, making sure it was the perfect temperature. Kane was holding a blanket, ready to wrap it around her shoulders at the slightest hint of a chill.

"No, silly, you have to peel the potatoes first!" Haleigh giggled, swatting at Jameson's arm playfully. "You're hopeless."

"I'm trying," Jameson said, his voice softer and more indulgent than I had ever heard it.

"I don't want to take my medicine," Haleigh whined, pushing away a small cup of pills Blake offered her. "It's so bitter."

"Here," Kane said instantly, producing a small jar of honey. "A little spoonful of this will help."

It was a perfectly choreographed dance of devotion, and I was the uninvited spectator in the wings.

Jameson was the first to see me. His smile froze. "Bailey. Where have you been?"

His voice was still gentle, but now it felt like a lie, a performance for the others.

I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed on Haleigh, on the triumphant little smile playing on her lips. She knew. She had orchestrated this entire scene for my benefit.

"Haleigh needs us right now, Bailey," Jameson said, his tone shifting into one of gentle reprimand. "Her time is short. We all need to be here for her. For your sister."

Your sister. The words were a mockery.

"Is that for her?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Or is it for you, Jameson? So you can feel better about abandoning the woman who stood by you for five years, all to fulfill the dying wish of the woman who broke your heart?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "That's not fair."

"Bailey, that's enough," Derrick said, his voice sharp. He stepped forward, a protective shield for Haleigh. "Your sister is sick. You need to be more understanding."

"We're a family," Blake added, his brow furrowed with disapproval. "We need to stick together."

"Don't be selfish," Kane finished, his voice cold as ice. "Haleigh needs us. You need to grow up."

Their words washed over me, a tide of familiar dismissal. I felt nothing. The part of me that could be hurt by them had already died this afternoon.

"Fine," I said, the single word feeling like a surrender. But it wasn't. It was a release.

A wave of relief washed over their faces. They had won. The troublesome spare part had been put back in its place.

"Good," Jameson said, his voice softening again. "Now, go upstairs and spend some time with Haleigh. She's been wanting to talk to you." He and my brothers turned to prepare a room for Haleigh, a room that used to be my art studio. They left me alone with my twin.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Haleigh slid off the stool and sauntered toward me. The fragile, dying patient was gone, replaced by the predator I knew so well.

"I got you a little something," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She held out a beautifully wrapped gift box tied with a silk ribbon. "A welcome-home-for-me, welcome-back-to-the-shadows-for-you present."

I took a step back. "I don't want it."

I knew her gifts. A box of chocolates filled with laxatives before my prom. A beautiful scarf infested with lice for my sixteenth birthday.

"Oh, don't be like that, sis," she cooed, closing the distance between us. "I promise, it won't bite."

She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and forced the box into it. "Here, let me help you open it."

With a flick of her wrist, she ripped the lid off.

Something black and hairy, with far too many legs, shot out of the box. It landed on the back of my hand. A searing, white-hot pain exploded from the point of contact.

A scream tore from my throat. It was a Brown Recluse spider. Venomous. Deadly.

Instinct took over. I flung my hand out, trying to shake the creature off. The box went flying, hitting Haleigh square in the chest.

She didn't even flinch. She simply let her eyes roll back in her head, crumpled to the floor, and let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

"She's trying to kill me!"

Bailey Douglas POV:

I woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the sterile smell of antiseptic. A hospital. Again. My hand was swathed in thick bandages, a dull, throbbing ache radiating up my arm.

"Miss Bailey? Oh, thank heavens, you're awake."

Maria, our family's housekeeper for over twenty years and the only person who had ever shown me consistent kindness, rushed to my bedside. Her eyes, usually so warm, were red-rimmed and filled with a mixture of relief and fury.

"How…?" I croaked, my throat dry. "The doctor said the venom was fast-acting."

"It was a miracle, miss," she said, her voice trembling. "They said if I had been five minutes later calling the private ambulance, you… you wouldn't have made it."

Her face crumpled. "I begged them, Miss Bailey. I begged Mr. Blair and your brothers to look at you, to see the bite mark, to call a doctor. But they wouldn't listen. They were all crowded around Miss Haleigh, who was crying about how you'd thrown a box at her. A box! While you were on the floor, convulsing."

She wrung her hands, her knuckles white. "They called me a hysterical old woman. Mr. Kane told me to stop making a scene and to remember my place."

My place. The forgotten spare.

"I reminded them," Maria whispered, her voice thick with tears, "of all the times you cared for them. When Mr. Derrick had that terrible flu, you were the one who stayed up all night, changing his cold compresses. When Mr. Blake broke his leg skiing, you were the one who drove him to physical therapy three times a week because he hated the nurses. When Mr. Kane's first big company almost went bankrupt, you sold the jewelry your grandmother left you to help him, and you never even told him."

Her words were little daggers, each one piercing the numb shell I had built around my heart.

"And Mr. Blair," she choked out a sob. "For five years, you managed his entire household, his social calendar, you even learned to make his favorite soup that only his mother knew the recipe for. You did everything for them. And they saw nothing. They see nothing but her."

I listened in silence, a single, hot tear tracing a path down my temple and into my hair. The pain in my heart was so much worse than the throb in my hand.

Just a little longer, I told myself, the thought of the island a distant, cool balm on my burning soul. Just a little longer, and then you'll be free.

Two days later, the private clinic discharged me. I returned to the villa to find itdecked out in balloons and streamers. The sound of jubilant celebration hit me like a physical blow. They were throwing a party. A birthday party for Haleigh. It was also my birthday. No one had remembered.

They were all gathered in the living room, presenting Haleigh with a mountain of lavish gifts. A diamond necklace from Jameson. A vintage sports car from Derrick. A limited-edition handbag from Blake. A rare first-edition book from Kane.

When they saw me standing in the doorway, the laughter died. The smiles froze on their faces.

"Well, look who it is," Blake said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Decided to grace us with your presence, have you? Had a nice little vacation at the spa?"

"We called the clinic," Kane added, his eyes cold and hard. "They said it was a minor spider bite. You were cleared to leave yesterday. Did you have to be so dramatic?"

"Lying is becoming a bad habit for you, Bailey," Derrick sneered.

Jameson approached me, his expression a mask of gentle disappointment that was more cutting than any anger. "Bailey, please," he said softly, as if speaking to a difficult child. "Haleigh feels terrible about what happened. She thinks you're blaming her. Can't you see how fragile she is? She's your sister. She' s my wife. We're a family."

My wife. He said it so easily. The five years we' d spent together, the life we had built, was erased by that single, legal document he' d so eagerly signed for her. And he had the audacity to stand here and talk to me about family.

Rage, pure and white-hot, surged through me. My vision swam. I could feel the blood draining from my face, but I forced my lips into a smile. It felt brittle, like it might crack my face in two.

"You're right, Jameson," I said, my voice eerily sweet. "You're absolutely right."

He looked taken aback, a flicker of unease in his eyes. He hadn't expected me to agree so readily.

Just then, Haleigh clapped her hands. "Oh, it's time! Time for my birthday video!"

The lights dimmed, and the large screen over the fireplace flickered to life. It was supposed to be a montage of Haleigh's childhood photos. Instead, the screen was filled with a high-definition image of Haleigh, five years younger, in a compromising position with two men in a dingy club. Her shirt was torn, her expression one of wild abandon.

Then another photo flashed. And another. Each one more scandalous than the last. The air in the room grew thick with shock and horror.

Across the screen, in bold red letters, a caption appeared: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NEW YORK'S BIGGEST WHORE.

The room exploded into chaos.

"Turn it off!" Derrick bellowed, his face purple with rage.

Blake leaped for the power cord, yanking it from the wall. The screen went black.

Kane grabbed the event manager by the collar. "If one word of this gets out, I will destroy you," he hissed.

Haleigh stood frozen for a moment, her face a mask of theatrical horror. Then, her eyes found mine across the room. She pointed a trembling finger at me.

"Bailey," she wailed, her voice cracking with practiced anguish. "How could you? How could you do this to me?"

And then, right on cue, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor, fainting gracefully into Jameson's waiting arms.

"Haleigh!" he cried, his voice laced with panic. "Someone get a doctor! Now!"

He swept her up into his arms, but before he turned to rush her upstairs, his eyes locked with mine. The look in them was no longer gentle or disappointed. It was pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You will pay for this," he snarled, his voice a low, terrifying promise.

Bailey Douglas POV:

"On your knees."

Kane' s voice was devoid of all emotion, which was far more terrifying than his anger. The word hung in the air of the now-silent living room, a death sentence.

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I didn't do it."

"I said," he repeated, taking a menacing step forward, "on your knees."

Two of Jameson's bodyguards appeared at my side. They grabbed my arms, their grips like iron vices. Before I could resist, one of them kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to crash down onto the hard marble floor. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my shins, but I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

Blake emerged from the shadows. In his hand, he held a long, thin leather whip. The one our father used to use on the hunting dogs. He flicked his wrist, and it cut through the air with a vicious whistle.

Crack.

The sound was shockingly loud in the silent room. The whip landed across my back, the impact stealing my breath. The pain was immediate and searing, a line of fire that burned through the thin fabric of my dress. I gasped, my body arching forward.

"Do you admit it?" Derrick asked, his voice a low growl from somewhere above me.

Tears sprang to my eyes, but my voice was steady. "No."

Crack.

The second lash landed on top of the first. This time, I couldn't stop the small cry that escaped my lips. I tasted blood as my teeth bit through my lower lip. I felt a warm wetness spreading across my back. The white silk of my dress was turning red.

"You're a disgrace," Kane spat. "Haleigh is dying, and you do this to her?"

Crack.

"You're jealous. You've always been jealous."

Crack. Crack.

The blows rained down, each one a fresh wave of agony. My back felt like it was being flayed open. My mind began to disconnect from my body, the pain becoming a distant, roaring ocean. A pool of red was growing on the white marble beneath me.

"Please... stop..." Maria's voice, choked with sobs, came from the doorway. "You'll kill her!"

"Get her out of here," Derrick commanded without turning his head. A guard dragged her away, her pleas fading down the hall.

The whipping continued. I don't know for how long. Time ceased to have meaning. All that existed was the whistle of the leather, the searing impact, and the cold, hateful voices of my brothers.

"You are nothing but a pale imitation."

"A worthless substitute."

"She was right to call you a thief. You stole her life."

With the final lash, my world went black. The last thing I saw was the crimson pool spreading on the floor and the cold, satisfied look in my brothers' eyes.

They left me in my room for three days. No food, no water, no medical attention. Just the throbbing, raw agony of my back. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the sounds that filtered through the wall from Haleigh's room next door.

Laughter. So much laughter.

"Oh, Jameson, you're peeling it all wrong!" Haleigh's delighted giggle.

"Derrick, can you read to me? My head hurts."

"Blake, I'm cold. Can you fetch my cashmere throw?"

"Kane, that soup is delicious! You're the best brother in the world."

And worst of all, Jameson's low, rumbling chuckle. A sound that used to be my comfort, now a torment.

Each laugh, each murmur of affection, was another turn of the knife in my already shattered heart. I buried my face in my pillow, my nails digging into my palms until they bled, trying to block out the sounds of the life I had so briefly been allowed to borrow. I thought I was numb, that I had no more tears to cry, but with every breath, a fresh wave of despair washed over me.

On the fourth morning, I forced myself out of bed. My back was a sheet of fire, every movement an exercise in agony. Clinging to the wall for support, I shuffled out of my room and toward the grand staircase.

I heard their voices drifting up from the foyer, animated and excited.

"The pod of dolphins has been spotted off the coast again," Jameson was saying. "You know how much Haleigh wants to see them."

"We should take her out on the yacht," Derrick suggested immediately. "The sea air will do her good."

"Excellent idea," Blake and Kane chorused.

I froze on the landing, my hand trembling on the banister. They were going to the sea. The sea, where the salt air would feel like acid on the open wounds on my back.

"Bailey!" Haleigh' s voice, bright and cheerful, suddenly called out from below. She had spotted me. "You're finally out of bed! We were getting worried."

The four men looked up. Their expressions were a mixture of guilt and annoyance. I must have looked a fright. I was gaunt, the dress I wore hanging off my skeletal frame. There were dark bruises on my wrists and face from where the guards had held me.

Haleigh didn't wait for a response. She bounded up the stairs, her face a picture of innocent concern, and looped her arm through mine. "Come on, we're all going to see the dolphins! It'll be so much fun!"

I flinched and tried to pull my arm away, but her grip was like steel.

Her eyes instantly filled with tears. "Bailey," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know you're angry. I know you think I'm trying to take everything from you. But I forgive you for what you did at the party. My reputation is ruined, but it doesn't matter. I don't have much time left. Let's just... be sisters again."

It was a masterful performance.

Jameson strode to the bottom of the stairs, his face a thundercloud. "Bailey, what is wrong with you? Haleigh is forgiving you, and you're still acting like this?"

"She's more gracious than you'll ever be," Derrick sneered.

I bit down on my lip, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I looked at their faces-Jameson's anger, Derrick's contempt, Blake's disappointment, Kane's cold indifference. These were the men I had given my heart to. They looked like strangers.

They forced me onto the yacht. They said it was to make Haleigh happy.

The sun was blinding, the sea a brilliant, mocking blue. Haleigh, full of energy for a dying woman, decided she wanted a barbecue on the deck. My brothers, despite their concerns for her "fragile health," couldn't deny her anything. She threatened to jump overboard if they didn't let her have her way.

I sat in a corner, invisible again. No one remembered I had a severe seafood allergy. No one remembered my back was an open wound. The salty air was already making my skin prickle with pain.

Then, for a moment, Jameson's gaze met mine. He seemed to notice me for the first time all day. "Bailey," he started, a flicker of something-guilt? concern?-in his eyes. "You shouldn't be in the sun. Your back..."

I simply said, "I'm allergic to shellfish."

The air grew awkward. He looked like he was about to get up, to find me something else to eat, but just then, a sudden, violent squall blew across the water. The yacht pitched wildly.

The heavy barbecue grill tipped over. Hot coals and flaming skewers scattered across the deck.

In a single, unified motion, Jameson and my three brothers threw themselves in front of Haleigh, creating a human shield to protect her from the flying embers.

A single, large piece of charcoal, glowing red-hot, landed on the hem of my long summer dress. The light fabric went up in flames in an instant.

Pain, unimaginable and all-consuming, engulfed my legs. I screamed, falling to the deck and rolling, trying to smother the fire.

I screamed and screamed.

Not one of them turned around.