Bailey POV

Mr. Abernathy’s office reeked of old money and mahogany polish.

With a trembling hand, he slid the deed across the glossy expanse of his desk. He clearly wasn't accustomed to clients settling their accounts with untraceable offshore funds.

"The island is uncharted, Miss Douglas," he warned. "No electricity grid. No cell towers. It is completely off the map."

"Perfect," I replied.

I signed the papers, my hand steady.

I wasn't purchasing a vacation home.

I was securing a grave to resurrect myself in.

I left his office with the coordinates burned into my memory. The private jet was scheduled for two days from now.

I just had to survive the next forty-eight hours.

I hailed a cab back to the Blair Estate.

I still had clothes there, but more importantly, I had my passport hidden beneath the floorboards.

The wrought-iron gates swung open automatically for me. They hadn't revoked my biometric access yet.

That was their mistake.

I stepped into the house.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

I made my way to the kitchen.

The scene before me stopped me dead in my tracks.

Jameson stood at the stove.

He was stirring a pot of risotto, wearing a chef's apron over his crisp dress shirt.

In five years, Jameson had never so much as boiled water for me.

He had never cooked a meal.

He barely ate dinner with me unless it was a mandatory business function.

Haleigh sat perched on the marble island counter, swinging her legs like a petulant child.

She held a glass of wine in one hand.

Derrick and Blake leaned against the fridge, casually eating olives from a jar.

They looked like a family.

A twisted, violent, perfect family.

And I was the intruder.

Jameson turned and locked eyes with me.

The domestic softness in his face vanished instantly.

The mask of the Underboss slammed back into place.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice ice-cold.

"We expected you at the ceremony," Haleigh chimed in.

She took a leisurely sip of wine.

"It would have been nice to have my sister there to support me."

"Support you marrying my fiancé?" I asked.

The words tasted like ash on my tongue.

Derrick scoffed.

"He was never yours, Bailey. You were just holding her spot."

"For five years?" I shot back.

I looked at Jameson, searching for a flicker of humanity.

"I warmed your bed for five years, Jameson. I nursed you when you took that bullet to the shoulder last winter. I stood by you when your father died."

Jameson turned back to the risotto, dismissing me entirely.

"That was your duty," he said, not even deigning to look at me.

"Haleigh is my wife. You are her sister. Act like it."

"She has cancer," Kane said, stepping out from the pantry. "Show some respect."

"She looks healthy enough to drink wine," I countered.

Haleigh’s eyes narrowed into slits.

She hopped off the counter and sauntered over to me.

She held out a small, velvet box.

"I got you a gift," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "A peace offering. For missing the wedding."

I didn't want to take it.

Jameson turned off the stove.

"Take it, Bailey," he commanded. "Don't be difficult."

I took the box.

It felt unnervingly light.

I lifted the lid.

Something dark and skittering blurred inside.

Pain exploded in my finger.

I screamed and dropped the box.

A black widow spider skittered across the pristine floor tiles.

My finger throbbed with a sharp, burning fire.

"Oh my god!" Haleigh shrieked.

She clutched her chest, stumbling back against the counter.

"She tried to throw it on me! She brought a spider to kill me!"

I stared at her in shock, my breath hitching.

My hand was already swelling, the venom racing up my arm.

"You gave it to me," I gasped.

"Liar!" Haleigh screamed. "Jameson, my heart! It's the stress!"

Jameson was at her side in a heartbeat.

He scooped her up into his arms as if she were made of glass.

"Get the car!" he roared at the brothers.

Derrick shoved me aside as he sprinted to the door.

I hit the wall hard.

My vision blurred.

"Jameson," I whispered. "He bit me."

Jameson looked at me.

He looked at my hand, which was rapidly turning angry shades of red and purple.

Then he looked at Haleigh, who was sobbing dry tears into his shirt.

"Stay here," he snarled at me.

"If anything happens to her heart because of your jealousy, you're dead."

He turned and ran out the door with her.

My brothers followed him without a backward glance.

They left me alone in the kitchen with the spider.

The room began to spin.

I slid down the wall.

My heart hammered against my ribs, irregular and terrified.

They left me.

They actually left me to die.

Bailey POV

I woke up to the rhythmic, monotone beep of a monitor.

The light was harsh and fluorescent, burning against my retinas.

It wasn't a private suite at the Blair family clinic, with its high thread-count sheets and discretion.

It was a curtained partition in a public city hospital.

"She's awake," a soft voice said.

Maria.

The housekeeper.

She was sitting in a hard plastic chair, clutching her rosary so tightly her knuckles were white.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

"Maria?" I croaked.

My throat felt like shredded sandpaper.

"I found you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I came to clean the kitchen. You were on the floor. Foam at your mouth."

She reached out, her calloused, warm hand stroking my hair.

"I called the ambulance. Not the family doctor. The ambulance."

"Where are they?" I asked.

I already knew the answer.

"With Haleigh," Maria said, looking away. "She... she told them she had palpitations."

"And me?"

Maria looked down at her lap.

"Mr. Jameson said you were seeking attention."

A tear leaked out of my eye.

It was hot and angry, burning a track down my cheek.

"How long?" I asked.

"Two days," Maria said.

"Today is my birthday," I whispered.

Maria squeezed my hand.

"I know, bambina. I know."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a cupcake.

It was smashed against the wrapper, but it had a single unlit candle stuck in the ruined frosting.

"Happy birthday, Bailey."

I ate the cupcake.

It tasted like salt and grief.

I signed the AMA forms an hour later.

The doctors protested, warning me about residual toxins and cardiac stress, but I walked out.

I had a flight to catch tomorrow.

I had to get my passport.

I took a taxi back to the estate.

The bass was thumping from the house, vibrating through the soles of my shoes as I stepped onto the pavement.

Luxury cars lined the driveway.

It was a party.

I walked through the front door.

The living room was packed with soldiers, associates, and high-ranking mobsters.

A massive banner hung across the staircase.

Welcome Home Haleigh.

Not Happy Birthday Bailey.

Just Haleigh.

Haleigh was in the center of the room, holding court.

She was wearing a scandalous red dress.

She was opening gifts.

Diamond earrings from Derrick.

A new car key from Blake.

Jameson stood behind her, his hand possessively on her shoulder.

The perfect Don.

The perfect husband.

\ The room went quiet when they saw me.

I was still wearing my hospital clothes—scrubs and a thin jacket.

I looked like a wreck.

"You're alive," Kane said.

He sounded disappointed.

"Stop making a scene, Bailey," Jameson said. His voice was low, dangerous. "Go change."

"It's our birthday," I said, my voice hollow.

Haleigh laughed, a tinkling, cruel sound.

"Oh, Bailey. Always making it about you. I almost died of a heart attack because of your prank."

"My prank?" I asked.

"The spider," she said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows you collect weird things."

The room murmured.

They believed her.

Of course they believed her.

She was the star.

"Let's watch the video!" Haleigh squealed, clapping her hands. "Jameson made a montage of my time in Europe!"

She pointed the remote at the massive screen on the wall.

Jameson smiled.

He had edited it himself.

A labor of love.

The screen flickered to life.

But it wasn't Haleigh in front of the Eiffel Tower.

It was grainy footage.

A bedroom.

Haleigh was there.

And so was the son of the Russian Bratva leader.

Our sworn enemies.

The audio crackled through the surround sound speakers.

"The Douglas family is a joke," Haleigh's voice rang out, crystal clear. "Jameson is a boring stiff. I'm just waiting for the old man to die so I can sell the territory codes."

The room froze.

The air was sucked out of the space.

Haleigh dropped her wine glass.

It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the silence.

Jameson stared at the screen.

His face went pale, then dark red.

This was treason.

This was a death sentence.

I stared at the screen.

I didn't do this.

I didn't switch the video.

Haleigh spun around.

Her eyes locked on me.

Panic flared in her gaze.

She pointed a shaking finger at me.

"She did it!" Haleigh screamed. "She faked it! It's AI! It’s a deepfake! She's trying to frame me because she's jealous!"

Jameson turned to me.

His eyes were black holes.

The logic didn't matter.

The truth didn't matter.

He needed a target for his rage.

He needed to protect the image of his wife, even if she was a traitor.

"Bailey," Jameson said.

It was a growl.

"What have you done?"

Derrick stepped forward.

"She's trying to destroy the family honor," he said.

"She needs to be taught a lesson," Blake added.

They were closing in on me.

Like wolves.

I backed up until I hit the wall.

"It's her voice," I said, my voice shaking. "Jameson, listen to it."

"Silence!" Jameson roared.

He grabbed my arm.

His grip was bruising.

"Get everyone out," he ordered the guards. "Now."

The guests scrambled for the exits.

They knew what happened behind closed doors when the Blair family was angry.

I looked at Jameson.

"Please," I whispered.

"You wanted attention, Bailey?" he hissed, dragging me toward the basement door. "Now you have it."

Bailey POV

The soundproof room reeked of rust and bleach.

It was a space designed for breaking people, usually reserved for interrogating rivals.

Now, however, they were using it on me.

Kane shoved me, sending me crashing to my knees on the unforgiving concrete.

"Admit it," Kane snarled. "You faked the video."

"I didn't," I gasped, my voice trembling.

"She betrayed you. She sold the codes."

Blake unbuckled his belt.

As the Enforcer, it was his job to punish disobedience.

"Don't lie to us," Blake said, his voice deceptively calm. "Haleigh is sick. She wouldn't hurt the family."

He folded the heavy leather strap.

"This is for your own good, Bailey. To cleanse the envy out of you."

Suddenly, Maria burst into the room at the top of the stairs.

"Stop!" she screamed. "She is your sister!"

Derrick grabbed Maria instantly.

"Get her out of here," Jameson said from the shadows.

He was leaning against the wall, watching with cold detachment.

He wasn't stopping them.

He was letting it happen.

He was the Underboss, and he had to uphold order—even if it meant breaking me.

Maria was dragged away, screaming my name, until the heavy door slammed shut, cutting off her plea.

The first lash hit my back.

I bit my lip until it bled.

I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of screaming.

Instead, I focused on the island. I focused on the coordinates.

I just had to survive.

Three days later.

I was lying in my bed, my body throbbing.

My back was a landscape of fire.

I hadn't eaten since that night.

The door opened, and Jameson walked in.

He didn't ask how I was.

Without a word, he threw a dress on the bed.

"Get up," he said. "We're going on the yacht."

"I can't move," I whispered, my throat dry.

"Haleigh wants a family barbecue," he said, his tone final. "She wants to forgive you. You will be there."

It wasn't a request.

Fighting the agony, I put on the dress.

It was long-sleeved and high-necked.

Designed to hide the bruises.

Designed to hide their shame.

The yacht was docked at the private marina.

The sun was shining brightly.

It was a beautiful day for a torture session.

Haleigh was lounging on the deck, looking pristine in a bikini.

She looked perfect.

"Bailey!" she chirped, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "I'm so glad you came. I told Jameson we couldn't leave you behind."

She winked at me.

She knew.

She knew I had taken her punishment.

The brothers were grilling steaks nearby.

They acted like nothing happened.

Like they hadn't whipped their sister in a basement only three days ago.

I sat on a bench, far away from them.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, and the sky turned gray.

A sudden squall hit the harbor, causing the boat to rock violently.

"Whoa!" Derrick yelled.

The heavy gas grill on the stern wasn't secured properly.

The boat lurched hard.

The grill tipped over.

Hot coals spilled across the teak deck, and the propane tank hissed.

A wall of fire erupted.

And I was sitting right next to it.

The flames caught the hem of my dress.

Cheap synthetic fabric.

It didn't just burn; it melted instantly.

"Help!" I screamed.

I batted frantically at the flames climbing up my legs.

"Haleigh!" Jameson shouted.

He wasn't looking at me.

Haleigh had fallen off her lounge chair.

She had a small scratch on her knee.

"My knee!" she cried. "Jameson, it hurts!"

Jameson, Derrick, Blake, and Kane.

All four of them rushed to Haleigh.

They formed a human shield around her.

They turned their backs on the fire.

They turned their backs on me.

I was burning.

The heat seared my skin.

The smell of burning hair and flesh filled my nose.

They didn't even look.

They were too busy checking Haleigh's knee.

I realized then, as the fire ate through my clothes, that I was already dead to them.

I rolled onto the deck in desperation.

I screamed, but the wind swallowed the sound.

Or maybe they just chose not to hear it.