Chapter 2

Isabella "Bella" Douglas POV

Mr. Abernathy, a man accustomed to the whims of New York's elite, masked his surprise with practiced professionalism.

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze flickering over my simple dress, likely trying to place me among them.

"An island?" he repeated, his voice smooth as polished marble.

I met his gaze without flinching.

"I need an island where I can disappear. Forever."

He presented a private island in the Caribbean, a ghost on the map. It had a self-sustaining villa, a deep-water dock, but no cell service, no connection to the outside world.

It was perfect.

"I'll take it," I said.

The deal was done in under an hour. Funds were transferred from a hidden account I'd maintained for years, an escape route I never thought I'd need.

The deed was registered under a new name: Isabella Hale. A ghost for a ghost.

I arranged for a private jet, scheduled to depart at dawn, two days from now.

I returned to Jameson's penthouse late that night.

The scent of roasted chicken and rosemary-my favorite-filled the air. It felt like a cruel joke.

I found him in the kitchen, carefully plating a meal for Haleigh. My brothers were there, surrounding her, fawning over the prodigal sister as she recounted some fabricated tale of her time away.

Jameson looked up and saw me.

"Where have you been?" His tone was sharp, accusatory, as if I had no right to a life outside these four walls.

"Did you do it?" I asked, my voice hollow. "Did you throw me away for her 'dying wish'?"

Derrick, my eldest brother, turned on me, his words like stones.

"She's dying, Bella. Have some goddamn respect."

Blake and Kane nodded in agreement, their faces grim masks of disapproval.

I said nothing. My silence was a shield, my apparent compliance a cloak for the escape I was meticulously plotting.

I watched them prepare the master suite for Haleigh, moving my things to a small guest room without a word to me.

Later, after the men had left her to rest, Haleigh approached me.

She held a small, beautifully wrapped box. A "welcome home" gift, she said.

"I always get what I want," she whispered, her smile chilling me to the bone.

She forced the box into my hands.

I fumbled with the ribbon, and the lid popped open. Something small and brown leaped out, its fangs sinking into the flesh of my hand.

A brown recluse spider.

I screamed, a raw, guttural sound of pain and terror, flinging the box away on pure instinct.

It struck Haleigh's chest.

She collapsed, her eyes widening with feigned horror, her hand clutching her heart.

"She's trying to kill me!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the silent penthouse.