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.

Bailey Douglas POV:

Their world had narrowed to a single point: Haleigh.

"Are you okay?" Jameson's voice was frantic as he checked her over.

"My hand! I think it's burned!" she cried, holding up her perfectly manicured hand, where a tiny red spot, no bigger than a freckle, was beginning to form.

"Get the first aid kit!" Derrick roared.

"Someone call the ship's doctor!" Kane bellowed.

They were a whirlwind of panicked activity, all for a nearly invisible mark. Meanwhile, my dress was a pyre, the flames greedily climbing toward my waist, the smell of burning fabric and flesh filling the air.

My screams turned to choked sobs of agony and despair. They couldn't hear me. Or they wouldn't.

Then, a new figure burst through the chaos. A young crewman with wide, horrified eyes. He didn't hesitate. He ripped off his jacket and threw himself on top of me, smothering the flames with his own body.

"Miss! Miss, stay with me!" he shouted, his face inches from mine, his expression a mask of terror.

Through a haze of pain, I saw them. Jameson and my brothers, carefully escorting a weeping Haleigh off the deck, their backs turned to me. Not one of them looked back. Not one of them spared a single glance for the sister, the fiancée, they were leaving behind.

By the time the crewman and the ship's doctor got me back to my cabin, I was barely conscious. My legs were a mess of raw, weeping burns. The doctor worked quickly, his face grim. He gave me a shot of morphine, and the world began to blur at the edges.

He left to retrieve more supplies, leaving me alone in the silent cabin.

My hand, the one the spider had bitten, fumbled in the pocket of my ruined dress. My fingers closed around my phone. It was a cheap burner phone I' d bought weeks ago. It vibrated. A text message.

With trembling fingers, I opened it. It was from Mr. Abernathy's office.

All documents have been finalized and filed under your new name. The island is officially yours. Final transport arrangements are confirmed for tomorrow at dawn.

A sudden, fierce will to live surged through me. I typed a reply, my fingers clumsy and stiff. PROCEED. CONFIRMED.

"Who are you texting?"

Jameson's voice, cold and sharp, cut through the morphine haze. He was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face a mask of suspicion.

I quickly shut off the phone and tried to hide it under my pillow.

He saw the movement. His eyes narrowed. "What are you hiding, Bailey?"

He strode into the room, but as he got closer, his eyes fell on my legs. The doctor had cut away the burned fabric, leaving the horrific injuries exposed. The raw skin, blistered and oozing, was a sight from a nightmare.

Jameson stopped dead. The color drained from his face. "My God," he whispered. "Bailey... why didn't you scream? Why didn't you say anything?"

A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. "I did scream, Jameson. You just weren't listening."

I saw a flash of genuine horror in his eyes, a flicker of the man I thought I knew. He rushed to my side, his voice laced with a panicky concern that felt five years too late. "The doctor is coming back. We'll get you the best care."

He sat on the edge of my bed, his hand hovering over my hair as if he wanted to soothe me but didn't dare. "Haleigh is resting. The brothers are with her. I'll stay here with you."

I just looked at him, my heart a dead, hollow thing in my chest. This tenderness, this concern... what was it worth now? He was Haleigh's husband. He had made his choice, over and over again. We were nothing.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. The burns on my legs were nothing. The real pain, the one that had been eating me alive, was a wound he could never see and would never understand.

The doctor returned, and Jameson watched, his face pale and grim, as my wounds were cleaned and dressed. It was an agony I bore in silence. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of my tears.

Just as the doctor was finishing, Haleigh's syrupy voice drifted in from the deck. "Jameson! Darling! The dolphins are back! You have to come see them!"

Jameson hesitated. For a single, breathtaking moment, I thought he might stay.

But then he stood up. He looked at me, his eyes full of a conflict I no longer cared to decipher. "Come on," he said, gently helping me to my feet. "You should see them too."

He settled me onto a cushioned lounge chair on the deck, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. The sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and gold. A pod of dolphins leaped and danced in the glittering water, their sleek bodies catching the last rays of light. It was beautiful. And it was a lie.

Haleigh stood at the railing, flanked by my brothers, her hands clasped together in front of her chest like a saint in a painting. "Oh, they're so beautiful," she sighed. "Let's all make a wish."

Jameson and my brothers closed their eyes, their faces earnest and full of hope. I knew what they were wishing for. For Haleigh to be cured. For her to live. For their precious, perfect Haleigh to be saved.

I looked at their devoted faces, and a cold, clear certainty settled over me. I closed my eyes too.

"What did you wish for, Bailey?" Haleigh asked, turning to me with a cloyingly sweet smile after a moment. Everyone looked at me, waiting.

I opened my eyes and met her gaze. I let the silence hang in the air, heavy and meaningful. Then, I smiled, a real smile this time, full of a strange, liberating peace.

"I wished," I said, my voice clear and steady, each word a stone dropping into a deep, silent well, "that I would never, ever have to see any of you again."