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.