Chapter 3

Bailey Douglas POV:

I woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the sterile smell of antiseptic. A hospital. Again. My hand was swathed in thick bandages, a dull, throbbing ache radiating up my arm.

"Miss Bailey? Oh, thank heavens, you're awake."

Maria, our family's housekeeper for over twenty years and the only person who had ever shown me consistent kindness, rushed to my bedside. Her eyes, usually so warm, were red-rimmed and filled with a mixture of relief and fury.

"How...?" I croaked, my throat dry. "The doctor said the venom was fast-acting."

"It was a miracle, miss," she said, her voice trembling. "They said if I had been five minutes later calling the private ambulance, you... you wouldn't have made it."

Her face crumpled. "I begged them, Miss Bailey. I begged Mr. Blair and your brothers to look at you, to see the bite mark, to call a doctor. But they wouldn't listen. They were all crowded around Miss Haleigh, who was crying about how you'd thrown a box at her. A box! While you were on the floor, convulsing."

She wrung her hands, her knuckles white. "They called me a hysterical old woman. Mr. Kane told me to stop making a scene and to remember my place."

My place. The forgotten spare.

"I reminded them," Maria whispered, her voice thick with tears, "of all the times you cared for them. When Mr. Derrick had that terrible flu, you were the one who stayed up all night, changing his cold compresses. When Mr. Blake broke his leg skiing, you were the one who drove him to physical therapy three times a week because he hated the nurses. When Mr. Kane's first big company almost went bankrupt, you sold the jewelry your grandmother left you to help him, and you never even told him."

Her words were little daggers, each one piercing the numb shell I had built around my heart.

"And Mr. Blair," she choked out a sob. "For five years, you managed his entire household, his social calendar, you even learned to make his favorite soup that only his mother knew the recipe for. You did everything for them. And they saw nothing. They see nothing but her."

I listened in silence, a single, hot tear tracing a path down my temple and into my hair. The pain in my heart was so much worse than the throb in my hand.

Just a little longer, I told myself, the thought of the island a distant, cool balm on my burning soul. Just a little longer, and then you'll be free.

Two days later, the private clinic discharged me. I returned to the villa to find itdecked out in balloons and streamers. The sound of jubilant celebration hit me like a physical blow. They were throwing a party. A birthday party for Haleigh. It was also my birthday. No one had remembered.

They were all gathered in the living room, presenting Haleigh with a mountain of lavish gifts. A diamond necklace from Jameson. A vintage sports car from Derrick. A limited-edition handbag from Blake. A rare first-edition book from Kane.

When they saw me standing in the doorway, the laughter died. The smiles froze on their faces.

"Well, look who it is," Blake said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Decided to grace us with your presence, have you? Had a nice little vacation at the spa?"

"We called the clinic," Kane added, his eyes cold and hard. "They said it was a minor spider bite. You were cleared to leave yesterday. Did you have to be so dramatic?"

"Lying is becoming a bad habit for you, Bailey," Derrick sneered.

Jameson approached me, his expression a mask of gentle disappointment that was more cutting than any anger. "Bailey, please," he said softly, as if speaking to a difficult child. "Haleigh feels terrible about what happened. She thinks you're blaming her. Can't you see how fragile she is? She's your sister. She' s my wife. We're a family."

My wife. He said it so easily. The five years we' d spent together, the life we had built, was erased by that single, legal document he' d so eagerly signed for her. And he had the audacity to stand here and talk to me about family.

Rage, pure and white-hot, surged through me. My vision swam. I could feel the blood draining from my face, but I forced my lips into a smile. It felt brittle, like it might crack my face in two.

"You're right, Jameson," I said, my voice eerily sweet. "You're absolutely right."

He looked taken aback, a flicker of unease in his eyes. He hadn't expected me to agree so readily.

Just then, Haleigh clapped her hands. "Oh, it's time! Time for my birthday video!"

The lights dimmed, and the large screen over the fireplace flickered to life. It was supposed to be a montage of Haleigh's childhood photos. Instead, the screen was filled with a high-definition image of Haleigh, five years younger, in a compromising position with two men in a dingy club. Her shirt was torn, her expression one of wild abandon.

Then another photo flashed. And another. Each one more scandalous than the last. The air in the room grew thick with shock and horror.

Across the screen, in bold red letters, a caption appeared: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NEW YORK'S BIGGEST WHORE.

The room exploded into chaos.

"Turn it off!" Derrick bellowed, his face purple with rage.

Blake leaped for the power cord, yanking it from the wall. The screen went black.

Kane grabbed the event manager by the collar. "If one word of this gets out, I will destroy you," he hissed.

Haleigh stood frozen for a moment, her face a mask of theatrical horror. Then, her eyes found mine across the room. She pointed a trembling finger at me.

"Bailey," she wailed, her voice cracking with practiced anguish. "How could you? How could you do this to me?"

And then, right on cue, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor, fainting gracefully into Jameson's waiting arms.

"Haleigh!" he cried, his voice laced with panic. "Someone get a doctor! Now!"

He swept her up into his arms, but before he turned to rush her upstairs, his eyes locked with mine. The look in them was no longer gentle or disappointed. It was pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You will pay for this," he snarled, his voice a low, terrifying promise.