Chapter 4

I woke up in a hospital bed. Again. My arms and torso were covered in bandages, the faint smell of burn cream in the air.

Caleb was sitting in a chair by the window, his expression cold and unforgiving.

"Are you ready to admit you were wrong?" he asked, not a hint of concern in his voice.

I just stared at him, my throat too raw to speak.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again," he continued, his voice low and dangerous, "the consequences will be much worse. Do you understand?"

I gave a slight nod, too tired to fight.

Just then, Hailie walked in, a bright smile on her face. "Ericka! I'm so glad you're okay! I was so worried."

She came over to the bed, her hand reaching for mine. As she leaned in close, her smile turned into a sneer. Her fingers, hidden from Caleb's view, pressed down hard on the rawest burn on my arm.

Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot through me. I cried out and shoved her away instinctively.

Hailie stumbled back, a perfect picture of wounded innocence. She fell to the floor, her eyes filling with tears.

"Ericka, why?" she sobbed. "I was just trying to be nice!"

"That's it!" Caleb roared, his face contorted with rage. "You are ungrateful and vicious! You don't deserve any kindness!"

He stormed over to the IV stand and ripped the needle from my arm. "No more medicine. No more nutrients. You can lie here and think about what you've done."

A nurse rushed in, but Caleb fixed her with a look so menacing she froze. He was Caleb Skinner. His power was absolute in this city.

He and Hailie left, leaving me alone with the throbbing pain and the cold, empty drip of the IV line.

I lay in that bed for two days, given nothing but water. The pain was a constant companion.

On the third day, Caleb returned.

"Get up," he said. "We're leaving."

I later realized it was the anniversary of the faked "accident." The day my family "went into hiding."

He drove me not to the villa, but to a cemetery. He led me to three pristine marble headstones.

Beverley Reid. Franklin Reid. Hailie Silva.

"On your knees," he commanded.

My own knees were weak, but I obeyed.

"You will kneel here from dawn until dusk," he said, his voice flat. "You will kneel on this gravel path and repent. This is your penance for today."

He and Hailie left me there.

The gravel was sharp. It tore through the thin fabric of my pants, then through my skin. I didn't feel it at first. The pain in my heart was so much greater.

I knelt for hours, staring at the names of my parents, the people who were alive and well, probably enjoying a day at the spa. I repeated the words "I'm sorry" over and over, a mechanical mantra that had lost all meaning.

By the time the sun set, my knees were a bloody, shredded mess. Caleb returned, a look of grim satisfaction on his face when he saw my condition.

"You will find your own way home," he said, and drove away, leaving me stranded and bleeding in a graveyard.

But I didn't go home.

I dragged myself to the cemetery's administrative office.

The man at the desk looked up, his eyes widening at my state.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice cautious.

"Yes," I said, my voice steady despite the pain. "I'd like to buy a burial plot."

He looked surprised. "For a family member?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "No. For me."

He stared at me, speechless. He was about to ask more questions when the door behind me burst open.

Caleb stood there, his face a thundercloud. He had come back for some reason, and had seen me go into the office.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice shaking with rage.