Chapter Three
The sterile, lemon-scented air of Ashford General’s VIP neurological wing offered no comfort, only the suffocating illusion of control.
For three agonizing weeks, the eighth floor had been transformed into a fortress.
Private security details, paid for by the Lancaster and Tate empires, monitored the elevator banks, the stairwells, and the corridors, ensuring that only the chosen few were permitted to bask in the miracle of Gabriela Monroe’s awakening.
But high-end security firms were built on protocols and algorithms, and Kinsley Bennet ate algorithms for breakfast.
"Left here, keep your head down," Kinsley whispered, her hand wrapped tightly around Marcy’s wrist. She dragged her soul sister past a linen cart and into a narrow alcove just as a pair of broad-shouldered guards strolled past, completely oblivious.
Kinsley was dressed in navy scrubs she had lifted from a supply closet on the third floor, her chaotic curls shoved beneath a surgical cap. In her hand, she held a cloned RFID keycard she had programmed using the hospital’s notoriously vulnerable guest Wi-Fi network.
Marcy’s heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her palms slick with a cold sweat. "Kins, this is insane. If Kade catches us... if Cruz sees you..."
"Let them look," Kinsley muttered, her jaw set with a diamond-hard determination. She swiped the cloned card against the scanner of the restricted corridor. The light flashed a welcoming green, and the door clicked open. "This is it, Marce. It’s been weeks. She’s talking. She’s coherent.
She has to tell them the truth today, or I’m going to lose my goddamn mind. "
Marcy swallowed the thick knot of dread in her throat.
Deep down, in the bruised and battered remnants of her heart, a fragile ember of hope still burned.
Gabriela had been her friend. They had shared secrets, braided each other’s hair, and dreamed of the future.
The accident had been a tragedy, and Gabriela’s initial lie must have been born of sheer panic.
Now that Gabriela was awake and safe, she would surely set things right. She had to.
Kinsley pushed open the door to Suite 801.
The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun. It looked less like a hospital room and more like a botanical garden; orchids, lilies, and white roses covered every available surface. Propped up against a mountain of plush, imported pillows was Gabriela Monroe.
She looked ethereal, the paleness of her skin only highlighting the delicate, sculpted perfection of her features.
Her golden hair had been carefully brushed, cascading over her shoulders.
Sitting at the edge of her bed was Kade Lancaster, his hand wrapped protectively over hers.
Cruz Tate leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed, the harsh lines of his face softened by a rare, relaxed peace.
On the leather sofas, Camille and Arthur Monroe sat beside Edward and Sherry Lancaster, speaking in hushed, joyous tones.
The soft murmur of conversation died the second the door clicked shut behind Marcy and Kinsley.
The temperature in the room plummeted. The relaxed, joyous atmosphere shattered into a million jagged pieces, replaced instantly by hostility.
Kade dropped Gabriela’s hand and stood up, his towering frame immediately blocking Marcy’s view of the bed. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by a glacial, murderous fury. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"Security!" Arthur Monroe bellowed, stepping forward, his face flushed with sudden rage. "Get them out of here! Now!"
"We're not leaving until she speaks," Kinsley shot back, stepping in front of Marcy, her chin raised in defiance. She glared at Cruz, who was already crossing the room with the lethal, silent grace of a predator. "Tell them, Gabriela. You’re awake. You’re fine.
Tell them what actually happened that night. "
"Don't you dare speak to her," Cruz snarled, his voice a dark, vibrating threat that made the very air in the room tremble. He reached for Kinsley, but Marcy finally stepped out from behind her sister.
"Gabriela, please," Marcy begged, her voice trembling, stripping away the last remnants of her pride.
She looked past the wall of furious men, her eyes pleading with the golden girl in the bed.
"Please. I have lost everything. I have lost my family.
I have lost the people I loved. Just tell them the truth. Tell them I wasn't driving."
Silence descended upon the room. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic hum of the heart monitor beside the bed.
Gabriela’s large, doe-like eyes shifted from Kade’s broad back to Marcy’s desperate face. For a fraction of a second, Marcy thought she saw a flicker of hesitation. But then, the golden girl’s lower lip began to tremble. Her eyes filled with bright, crystalline tears.
"Why are you doing this, Marcy?" Gabriela whispered, her voice fragile, breathless, and devastated. She clutched the lapels of her silk robe, shrinking back against the pillows.
"Gabriela..." Marcy breathed, a cold dread washing over her.
"I always knew you resented me," Gabriela choked out, a flawless, tragic sob tearing from her throat. "I knew you were jealous. Because I had a mother and a father, and you... you were just an orphan living on charity."
The words struck Marcy with the physical force of a freight train. The breath rushed out of her lungs.
"Gabriela, what are you saying?" Kinsley demanded, her voice rising in sheer panic.
"You wanted my life, Marcy," Gabriela wept, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. "You wanted Kade. You wanted my family. That’s why you grabbed the wheel that night. That’s why you ran us off the road! You wanted to take my place!"
The room exploded.
Sherry Lancaster gasped in horror, pressing a hand to her mouth. Edward Lancaster’s face darkened with a rage so intense it bordered on madness. Kade let out a sound that was half-growl, half-roar, taking a step toward Marcy with his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were stark white.
But it was Camille Monroe who moved first.
With a scream of pure, unadulterated hatred, Camille launched herself across the room. Before Kinsley could intervene, before Marcy could even raise her hands to defend herself, Camille’s palm cracked against Marcy’s cheek with a sickening, resounding smack.
The force of the blow sent Marcy stumbling backward, her shoulder slamming hard into the wooden door. Her cheek burned with a white-hot fire, the taste of copper flooding her mouth as her teeth cut into the inside of her lip.
"You monster!" Camille shrieked, restrained only by Arthur wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back. "You vicious, jealous, pathetic little orphan! You tried to murder my daughter!"
Marcy slowly raised her head. She didn't press her hand to her stinging cheek. She didn't cry. She didn't try to defend herself.
In that single, crystalline moment, something deep inside Marcy’s chest simply gave way.
The tether—the thick, rope of love, loyalty, and desperate hope that had bound her to the Lancasters, the Tates, and the Monroes for her entire life—snapped.
It didn't fray; it severed cleanly, completely, leaving behind a hollow, echoing void.
She looked at Kade, the man she had loved since she was a child. He was looking at her with unwavering revulsion. She looked at Gabriela, who was peeking out from behind her hands, a glimmer of cold, calculated triumph hidden beneath her crocodile tears.
They were gone. The people she had loved had never really existed. They were ghosts, wrapped in expensive suits and legacy titles.
Marcy didn't say a word. The silence that fell over her was terrifying.
But Kinsley Bennet was not silent.
With a feral, guttural cry, Kinsley shoved past Kade. She moved with a speed born of adrenaline and protective fury. She reached the side of the hospital bed before anyone could react, drew her arm back, and delivered a devastating, open-handed slap across Gabriela Monroe’s face.
The sound echoed through the suite like a gunshot. Gabriela’s head snapped to the side, a genuine shriek of shock and pain escaping her lips.
Pandemonium erupted.
"You bitch!" Kade roared, lunging forward.
But Cruz Tate was faster. With a terrifying, lethal speed, Cruz closed the distance.
His large, powerful hand clamped down around Kinsley’s delicate wrist like a vice of solid steel.
His face was a mask of sheer, murderous rage, the civilized billionaire completely stripped away to reveal the ruthless predator beneath.
With a violent, vicious yank, Cruz wrenched Kinsley’s arm backward.
A sickening, audible crack split the air, followed by the dull, wet sound of tearing ligaments.
Kinsley gasped, all the color draining from her face in an instant as blinding agony radiated up her arm.
Her knees buckled slightly, but she refused to fall.
She refused to give Cruz the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
She bit down on her lip so hard a drop of blood welled up, her eyes wide, locked onto the furious, -breathing man who had just broken her bone.
"Touch her again," Cruz whispered, his voice a demonic, vibrating hiss, his grip still crushing her shattered wrist, "and I will end your miserable existence."
Marcy snapped out of her paralyzed state. "Let her go!" she screamed, rushing forward and shoving her hands against Cruz’s immovable chest. "Get your hands off her!"
Kinsley didn't cry. Despite the sweat beading on her forehead and the violent trembling of her frame, she stood tall. She looked down at Gabriela, who was clutching her reddened cheek, sobbing hysterically into Kade’s chest.
"One day, the truth will come out, Gabriela," Kinsley said. Her voice wasn't a shout. It was a chilling, steady promise that sliced through the hysterical noise of the room. "The whole truth. And when it does, you will rot in hell."