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."

Bailey Douglas POV:

Just as the last word left my lips, the wind howled, and the sky opened up. A torrential downpour descended, erasing the sunset and turning the sea into a churning grey chaos. My voice was lost in the sudden roar of the storm and Haleigh's theatrical shriek of fear.

"What did you say?" Jameson shouted over the wind, taking a step toward me.

But Haleigh was already clinging to his arm. "Jameson, I'm scared! Take me inside, please!"

And just like that, his attention was gone. He and my brothers scrambled to get Haleigh back into the safety of the cabin, leaving me alone on the storm-lashed deck.

I turned back to the sea, to the dolphins that had already vanished into the depths. A slow smile spread across my face. It was a sign. The universe was granting my wish.

They would never know. They would never truly hear it. They had never listened to my heart, so why should they get to hear its final, desperate plea? It didn't matter. Soon, I would be gone.

The opportunity came a week later. Haleigh had been invited to the prestigious annual Black and White Ball, a highlight of the New York social season. Jameson and my brothers all had prior, unbreakable commitments.

"Bailey, darling, you have to come with me," Haleigh pleaded, her eyes wide and innocent. "I haven't been to one of these in years. I don't know anyone. I'll be so lonely."

"No," I said flatly. My burns were still healing, and the thought of being trapped in a room with her was unbearable.

But my refusal was irrelevant.

"You will go," Derrick commanded, his face set in stone.

"And you will make sure she doesn't make a fool of herself or this family," Kane added, his voice like chips of ice.

Blake simply took my arm and all but shoved me into the waiting limousine beside Haleigh.

At the ball, Haleigh was a vision in a glittering red gown, the picture of vibrant health. She immediately abandoned me to flirt with a circle of admirers. But every time a waiter approached her with a tray of champagne, she would find me, press a glass into my hand, and whisper, "You have to drink this for me, Bailey. The doctor said I can't have alcohol with my medication. You don't want the boys to be angry with me, do you?"

I knew she was lying. I knew it was a game. But I was trapped. I drank. One glass, then another, then another. The room began to spin.

"Oh, Bailey, you look flushed," Haleigh said, appearing at my side, her face a mask of concern. "You've had too much to drink. Let me help you to a room to lie down."

I tried to shake my head, to push her away, but the alcohol had turned my limbs to lead. She half-dragged, half-carried me out of the grand ballroom and down a long, quiet corridor. She fumbled with a key card, pushed open a door, and shoved me inside.

"Have a nice nap, sis," she giggled, and the door clicked shut behind her, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing in the silent room.

I stumbled and fell to the plush carpet. My head was spinning. Through a drunken haze, I saw a figure detach itself from the shadows. A man. He was unknotting his tie, a greasy, lecherous smile on his face.

"Well, hello there, pretty thing," he slurred, advancing on me. "Haleigh said you were waiting for me. Ready to have some fun?"

My blood ran cold. I scrambled backwards, my body clumsy and unresponsive. "Get away from me."

He laughed, a guttural, ugly sound. "Don't be shy." He lunged, and his hand closed around my wrist, yanking me toward him. His hot, stale breath washed over my face.

Just as his other hand reached for the collar of my dress, I heard voices outside the door. Haleigh's, and… Jameson's.

"Jameson! What a surprise! What are you doing here?" Haleigh's voice was bright and cheerful.

"I finished my meeting early," Jameson replied. His voice was a low, comforting rumble that now sent a spike of pure terror through me. "I was worried about you being here alone, so I came to get you. Where's Bailey?"

"Oh, she's in the ladies' room," Haleigh said smoothly. "She had a little too much to drink."

With every ounce of strength I had left, I threw myself against the locked door. "Jameson! Help me!" I screamed, my voice raw with panic.

There was a sudden, sharp silence from the hallway.

Then, Jameson's voice, colder now. "Haleigh, what's going on? Who's in there?"

"I... I don't know," Haleigh stammered, and then her voice rose to a pathetic whimper. "Oh, Jameson... my heart... it hurts. I need... I need to take my medicine. It's back at the house. Please, we have to go now."

A long, suffocating silence followed. I held my breath, my heart a trapped bird beating against my ribs. I knew what he would choose. I had always known.

"Alright," Jameson said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Let's get you home."

I heard their footsteps retreating down the hall.

He was leaving me. He heard my screams, and he was leaving me.

A sound, something between a sob and a scream, tore from my throat. The man in the room took it as an invitation. His hands were on me, tearing at my dress.

Despair gave me a final, desperate surge of strength. My flailing hand hit something hard and heavy on the bedside table. A glass ashtray. I gripped it, swung it with all my might, and brought it down on the side of his head.

He grunted and collapsed.

I scrambled to my feet, my dress in tatters, and wrenched the door open. The hallway was empty. I ran. Down the corridor, through the lobby, out into the cold, rainy night. I didn't have my shoes, I didn't have my purse. I just ran.

I ran until my lungs burned and my bare feet were numb. I stumbled into the street, into the path of oncoming headlights.

There was a sickening thud, a flash of blinding light, and the sensation of flying. I landed hard on the wet pavement, the world exploding into a universe of pain.

Through the rain and the fog of my fading consciousness, I saw the car that had hit me. A sleek, black Bentley. Jameson's car. It slowed for a moment. I saw his silhouette behind the wheel.

Then, he accelerated, speeding away into the night, leaving me to die alone in a pool of my own blood on the cold, dark road.