Chapter 2

"She can still be saved!"

The family doctor George had brought with him rushed forward. He checked Lily' s pulse, his face grim. "We can still get Miss Lily to the hospital in time!"

The words were a spark in the darkness. Hope, sharp and painful, shot through me. I scrambled to my feet, clutching Lily to my chest, and ran for the car.

We raced to the nearest hospital, the siren of George' s car clearing the way. But as we pulled up to the emergency entrance, a familiar figure blocked our path.

It was Mark, Liam' s assistant.

He stood there, arms crossed, with two security guards.

"Mr. Miller' s orders. No one from the Miller family is to be admitted here today."

I stumbled out of the car, my legs weak. "Please," I begged, falling to my knees on the cold asphalt. "Please, my daughter is dying."

Mark looked away, his expression unreadable. "My orders are clear, Mrs. Miller."

"Liam wants to vent his anger, so torture me," I cried, my voice breaking. "Blame me. But please, let me get a doctor for my daughter. I' m begging you."

George got out of the car, his face a mask of thunder. He raised his heavy wooden cane and brought it down hard on Mark' s leg.

There was a sickening crack. Mark screamed and crumpled to the ground.

"If you delay my granddaughter' s rescue," George roared, his voice trembling with rage, "I' ll make you pay!"

The security guards backed away, intimidated.

Mark, clutching his broken leg, finally noticed the small, blood-soaked bundle in my arms. His face went white.

"But... but all the doctors in this hospital have been transferred by Mr. Miller," he stammered, panic in his eyes.

"Idiot!" George bellowed. He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking, and started making calls.

One hospital after another, the answer was the same.

Liam, worried that Tiffany might attempt suicide after being "upset" by Lily, had paid a fortune. He had gathered every available doctor in the city-specialists, surgeons, ER physicians-and put them on 24-hour standby at the luxury hotel where he was staying with her.

All for Tiffany.

The hope in my chest died, turning to ice. I held my daughter, her small body growing colder and colder against mine. My hands trembled uncontrollably. She was so light. Too light.

Just then, someone rushed through the hospital doors toward us.

"Mr. Miller sent me over..."

I lunged forward, a wild surge of adrenaline making me think it was a doctor, that Liam had finally come to his senses.

But it wasn't a doctor. It was a delivery guy.

He was holding a small paper bag.

"Mr. Miller asked me to deliver these band-aids," the man said, looking confused. "He also told me to tell you that bleeding isn' t dying, so don' t bother him with trivial matters."

The world stopped.

Band-aids.

He sent band-aids for his dying daughter.

"Beast!" George screamed. He knocked the bag from the delivery man' s hand, and dozens of colorful cartoon band-aids scattered across the pavement. He clutched his chest, his face turning a ghastly shade of purple, and collapsed to the ground.