CHAPTER ELEVEN
LILA
The scent of lavender hangs in the air, soft and ghostly, rising from the sleek black diffuser on the windowsill.
It’s supposed to be calming… maybe for the patients.
Maybe for the doctor himself. Maybe to mask the sting of reality as he delivers yet another slow-motion wrecking ball to someone’s world.
He sits across from us, middle-aged and maddeningly composed. Crisp shirt. Clean-shaven. Eyes unreadable. He doesn’t look like the kind of man who says, “You’re dying.”
But that’s exactly what he’s about to do. And he’s done it before. This is his normal. He wears the white coat of death as if it were just part of his uniform.
What a horrifying kind of normal.
“It’s stage four triple-negative breast cancer,” he says, as if reading a headline from the morning paper.
The words fall like lead, heavy and suffocating.
My throat closes and tears burn the rims of my eyes, ready to fall.
I reach for Mom’s hand and squeeze it tight.
Her skin is thin and cold. We sit in stiff chairs facing the physician’s desk, the room uninviting and bright.
Everything feels clinical. Distant. Chilling.
“And… what does that mean?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
The doctor doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. He types on his keyboard—click, click, click—and then rests his fingers on the desk, tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A steady, slow rhythm. Too steady. It mirrors the pulse pounding in my ears, only calmer. Like he’s tapping out my heartbeat but on mute. My panic is screaming.
His fingers don’t stop. He turns the monitor screen toward us.
“It’s one of the most aggressive forms of breast cancer,” he explains. “It spreads fast. It doesn’t respond to traditional hormone or targeted therapies.” We knew it was cancer, but this…
He gestures to the screen. A chart glows with tangled lines and highlighted cells. “Most treatments target hormone receptors. Think of them like locks. The medicine acts as a key.” He looks at us. “But triple-negative breast cancer has no locks.”
No locks.
No keys.
No cure.
My stomach drops. The room spins as my anxiety takes hold of me. I can’t breathe. My voice shakes. “How long…?”
He glances at the chart again, then lowers his eyes to the paper in front of him. And for the first time, he actually looks sad. Human. “Eight months,” he says softly. “The cancer has already metastasized. It’s spread to her lymph nodes.”
I thought I had a year with her, but now four months have been ripped away from me.
Mom’s fingers curl tighter around mine. She’s still here… for now.She looks down at her lap. Defeated. A single tear falls onto her jeans, leaving a dark splotch on the faded denim.
I inhale deeply, the lavender curling through my nose. It’s sweet and floral, with a hint of earth and medicine, and I try to let it calm me before I shatter in front of her. The world tilts. I feel it. Slowing. Her mask has shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
Eight months.
Eight months until Dad is left to sleep in a bed that’s half-empty for the rest of his life.
Eight months until I can’t call her to hear her voice or tell her I didn’t eat ramen for dinner.
Eight months until I lose her.
I feel my heart folding in on itself, like paper crumbled up into a ball.
And Beck.
Damn him.
He made a promise. I won fair and square, and still, he ghosted me as if my mother’s life meant nothing.
I grit my teeth.
If he’s not at the company when I walk out of this room, I swear I will burn his damn house to the ground. I don’t care about the job anymore. And I don’t care if I ever get another one. Because honestly… what do I have left to lose?
Cancer’s already taken it all.
I shift in my seat and wrap my arm around Mom, pulling her into me. Her fragile body crumbles against mine. Then the sobs come… low, shattering cries that don’t even sound like her. I stroke her hair, whispering promises I’m not even sure I can keep.
“I’m here, Mama. I’m not going anywhere.” She’s always been my strength. Now it’s my turn to be hers. Dad places a hand on my back, rubbing slow circles. His other hand trembles in his lap. He doesn’t say a word. He’s breaking too, but in silence. He is still holding onto his glass mask… barely.
The doctor clears his throat. “There are some options. A few experimental trials, new chemo combinations, and immunotherapy. But there are no guarantees.”
Dad’s voice cracks. “Alice doesn’t want treatment. She said… she wants nature to take its course. No chemo. No pills. No side effects.”
I turn to Mom, watching as she stares down at the floor, completely defeated. She still hasn’t spoken. “Mom?” I whisper. “Is that really what you want?”
For a second, I think she won’t answer. But then… her red-rimmed eyes rise to meet mine. She looks at the doctor. Her voice is barely audible. “What treatments are… available?”
Hope. It swells in my chest so fast it hurts. The doctor nods slowly. “There’s a new trial we’re running. A chemo drug designed to revert cancerous cells to healthy ones, in combination with a double mastectomy and follow-up radiation.” She flinches, and I see the flicker of fear cross her face.
It’s too much. Too big. Too expensive.
“And… how much does it cost?” she asks, already knowing the answer is too much for us to afford.
The doctor clicks through his file, eyebrows drawing together.
Then… “Well, it appears… It’s already been paid for.”
We all freeze.
Dad blinks. “Excuse me?”
“I’m looking at it right here,” the doctor says, tilting the screen. “Payment processed this morning. The total amount: fifteen million dollars.”
Fifteen. Million.
My jaw goes slack. I exchange a wide-eyed look with Dad.
“That… can’t be right,” Mom whispers. “We didn’t pay that.”
But I already know.
My heart stutters.
Beck Heartford. This must be him. This is the wish. The one he never called to confirm. He did it quietly. Anonymously. But… how did he know?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what it costs me. I will do whatever it takes to keep her alive.
I clear my throat and force a casual shrug. “Could be a medical grant. Or maybe the Academy pitched in. Some kind of scholarship fund. Who knows?” I meet Mom’s eyes and smile softly. “It’s here. It’s real. All you have to do… is say yes.”
Dad turns to her, emotion tightening his voice. “Alice… do you want to do this?”
She looks between us, and something shifts. Her eyes brighten. Her spine straightens. For the first time since we walked in, she doesn’t look like she’s dying. She looks like she wants to live.
“I want to watch my girl become a wife and loving mom,” she whispers. “So yes. I want to try.”
The room blurs with tears as I leap from my chair and wrap my arms around her. “I love you.”
She clutches me back, holding me like she’s afraid to let go. “I love you too, sweetie. I’m going to be alright.”
My phone rings as it tears through the emotion. I glance down. A number I don’t recognize. I hesitate.
Could it be…? No way…
I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
A bubbly voice floats through the speaker. “Good morning! Is this Ms. Anderson?”
“It is.”
“Hi! This is Jasmine with Heartford Cypher International. Mr. Heartford would like to meet with you for a formal interview. Are you available Monday morning?”
My parents are watching, holding their breath, but something about this feels off. Eerie. Too perfect.
But I can’t contain my excitement, and I practically jump out of my skin. “Yes! Yes, absolutely!”
“Perfect. Monday at nine o’clock in the morning. Just let the front desk know you’re here to see Mr. Heartford, take the elevator to the top floor, and I’ll be there to greet you. Any questions?”
“No, ma’am. That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!”
I hang up, slowly turning to face my parents. “I have a job interview,” I say breathlessly. “With Heartford. Monday morning.”
They jump up and pull me into a tight hug.
Dad kisses my forehead. “We are so proud of you. You have worked incredibly hard to get that interview.”
If only he knew I tased a man and blackmailed him… whoops.
The doctor clears his throat again. “So… we’re moving forward with treatment?”
Mom grabs my hand and squeezes. “Yes. We are.”
“Excellent. We’ll need to start Monday morning at nine o’clock.”
I blink. My stomach drops.
Monday. At the same time. Of course, this would happen.
“I can cancel the interview,” I say quickly. “I’ll be here.”
“No!” Mom says firmly, turning to me. Her voice is soft but firm. “You’ve always wanted to work at Heartford. Don’t miss it… not for me.”
“But Mom…” Tears sting my eyes.
“Absolutely not. I want to watch your dreams come true. I want to help you plan your wedding. I want to watch you walk down the aisle in some ridiculous dress you’ll regret later but love in the moment.” She smiles, voice cracking. “So promise me, Lila. You’ll go.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay, I promise.” But as I look at her alive, full of hope for the first time since the diagnosis, something inside me curdles. Because this doesn’t feel like a miracle, it feels like a transaction.
Fifteen million dollars. A second chance at life for my mother. An invitation for me to step inside the world's most powerful company. All at once? This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a contract. And I never signed it.
Beck Heartford’s name is on the building. His voice made the offer.
But it’s the three masked figures who have me questioning my sanity.
Three unforgettable encounters. Batman danced with me, making me feel safe and wanted. The Phantom, who awakened a darkness I didn’t know I craved. And the Red Mask, who hunted me through the maze and left me in a trance, I haven’t escaped.
My mind drifts to that night, the one that was my undoing. The night I’ve never recovered from. The way Batman’s strong hands held me close, our bodies grinding together as if we were the only two people in the world…
I never wanted to leave the dance floor. I never wanted to leave him, especially after finding out he was Beck.
But then I walked in on a scene that left me speechless and completely captivated. The Phantom’s eyes had me mesmerized. Sharp, crystal blue, all-consuming. The ink etched across his chest burned into my memory, igniting something deep and forbidden in my core.
And then the Red Mask, the one that grazed my skin, a touch so light it scorched and left me branded. His breath ghosted against my ear, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly what it did to me. And that hum.
Low. Dark. Almost primal.
It vibrated down my spine and into the hollow of me, echoing long after he vanished into the night.
Damn it, Lila. You’re with your parents. Focus…
But I can’t.
They haunt my memories.
In the maze, it was Beck in the Red Mask who whispered in my ear. It was him who hunted me in the dark.
Or was it?
I thought it was him. I wanted to believe it was him because it would make sense.
But what if it wasn’t? What if it was the Phantom? No. He’s not real. He can’t be real. He’s a figment of my imagination… right?
The panic attack must’ve made me hallucinate. He couldn’t have been real.
Unless… they’re all the same person.
I know Beck is Batman. But the other two? Are they him too?
The Red Mask. Batman. The Phantom.
Three faces. Possibly one man.
My pulse roars in my ears.
Did I trade my soul for a miracle… or did I sell myself to a monster wearing three masks?
I don’t know who I’m walking into on Monday. I don’t know what I’ve agreed to. All I know is this: something darker than cancer has wrapped itself around my life, and somewhere in the distance, I swear I hear it again.
That melody. That voice. That sultry hum, a quiet threat, creeping like ivy through my chest and stealing my breath. Calling me. Claiming me. As it always has. I think it’s already too late to run.