Chapter 2

Bailey Douglas POV:

Mr. Abernathy' s professionally placid expression faltered for just a second. Surprise flickered in his eyes before he masked it with a polite smile. He folded his hands on the polished mahogany desk between us.

"An island, Miss Douglas? Of course. We have several exclusive properties in our portfolio. Do you have a particular region in mind? The Caribbean, perhaps? The South Pacific?"

"The most remote one," I repeated, my voice flat. "A place where no one would think to look. A place where I can disappear."

He watched me for a long moment, taking in my tear-stained face, my trembling hands, the hollow desperation in my eyes. I saw a flicker of pity, but he was too professional to pry. He simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of a pain he didn't need to understand to serve.

"I have just the thing," he said, turning to his computer. "It's a small cay in the Caribbean, virtually uncharted. It's not listed publicly. It was repossessed from a rather... eccentric client. It has a self-sustaining villa, solar power, a water desalination system. But I must be clear, it is utterly isolated. Supplies are delivered by boat only once a month. There is no cell service. The nearest inhabited land is over a hundred nautical miles away."

"Perfect," I whispered. The word was a prayer.

"I'll take it."

He worked with quiet efficiency, his movements betraying the urgency he sensed in me. Documents were printed, deeds were located, and a satellite phone was produced for the transfer of funds from my grandmother' s trust. I signed the papers with a hand that barely shook, the stroke of the pen a final, severing act. The number that flashed on the payment terminal was astronomical, enough to buy a small country, but it felt like nothing. It was the price of freedom.

"The deed will be registered in your new name, as per your request," Mr. Abernathy said, sliding a final document toward me. "And the transport will be ready to depart from the private marina at dawn, two days from now. Will that be sufficient time?"

"It will," I said, my voice a ghost of its former self.

It was dark when the taxi dropped me back at the gates of the Blair estate, the sprawling villa Jameson and I had called home. My home. Or so I had thought.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and was immediately enveloped in a wave of warmth and laughter. The scent of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the air.

And there they were. A perfect family portrait I was no longer a part of.

Jameson was in the kitchen, an apron tied awkwardly around his waist, pulling a tray of roasted potatoes from the oven. He never cooked. In five years, he had never once cooked for me.

Haleigh was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, laughing as she directed him. My brothers were gathered around her like loyal sentinels. Derrick was carefully cutting an apple into thin slices for her. Blake was pouring her a glass of water, making sure it was the perfect temperature. Kane was holding a blanket, ready to wrap it around her shoulders at the slightest hint of a chill.

"No, silly, you have to peel the potatoes first!" Haleigh giggled, swatting at Jameson's arm playfully. "You're hopeless."

"I'm trying," Jameson said, his voice softer and more indulgent than I had ever heard it.

"I don't want to take my medicine," Haleigh whined, pushing away a small cup of pills Blake offered her. "It's so bitter."

"Here," Kane said instantly, producing a small jar of honey. "A little spoonful of this will help."

It was a perfectly choreographed dance of devotion, and I was the uninvited spectator in the wings.

Jameson was the first to see me. His smile froze. "Bailey. Where have you been?"

His voice was still gentle, but now it felt like a lie, a performance for the others.

I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed on Haleigh, on the triumphant little smile playing on her lips. She knew. She had orchestrated this entire scene for my benefit.

"Haleigh needs us right now, Bailey," Jameson said, his tone shifting into one of gentle reprimand. "Her time is short. We all need to be here for her. For your sister."

Your sister. The words were a mockery.

"Is that for her?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Or is it for you, Jameson? So you can feel better about abandoning the woman who stood by you for five years, all to fulfill the dying wish of the woman who broke your heart?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "That's not fair."

"Bailey, that's enough," Derrick said, his voice sharp. He stepped forward, a protective shield for Haleigh. "Your sister is sick. You need to be more understanding."

"We're a family," Blake added, his brow furrowed with disapproval. "We need to stick together."

"Don't be selfish," Kane finished, his voice cold as ice. "Haleigh needs us. You need to grow up."

Their words washed over me, a tide of familiar dismissal. I felt nothing. The part of me that could be hurt by them had already died this afternoon.

"Fine," I said, the single word feeling like a surrender. But it wasn't. It was a release.

A wave of relief washed over their faces. They had won. The troublesome spare part had been put back in its place.

"Good," Jameson said, his voice softening again. "Now, go upstairs and spend some time with Haleigh. She's been wanting to talk to you." He and my brothers turned to prepare a room for Haleigh, a room that used to be my art studio. They left me alone with my twin.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Haleigh slid off the stool and sauntered toward me. The fragile, dying patient was gone, replaced by the predator I knew so well.

"I got you a little something," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She held out a beautifully wrapped gift box tied with a silk ribbon. "A welcome-home-for-me, welcome-back-to-the-shadows-for-you present."

I took a step back. "I don't want it."

I knew her gifts. A box of chocolates filled with laxatives before my prom. A beautiful scarf infested with lice for my sixteenth birthday.

"Oh, don't be like that, sis," she cooed, closing the distance between us. "I promise, it won't bite."

She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and forced the box into it. "Here, let me help you open it."

With a flick of her wrist, she ripped the lid off.

Something black and hairy, with far too many legs, shot out of the box. It landed on the back of my hand. A searing, white-hot pain exploded from the point of contact.

A scream tore from my throat. It was a Brown Recluse spider. Venomous. Deadly.

Instinct took over. I flung my hand out, trying to shake the creature off. The box went flying, hitting Haleigh square in the chest.

She didn't even flinch. She simply let her eyes roll back in her head, crumpled to the floor, and let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

"She's trying to kill me!"