CHAPTER 2: THE HOSPITAL
I woke up in a white room that smelled like antiseptic and bleach.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A heart monitor beeped steadily beside my bed. My arm was wrapped in bandages, my ribs were taped, and every inch of my body felt like it had been through a war.
I tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through my chest.
"Easy, easy."
A nurse rushed over, pressing me back against the pillows. Her face was kind, her eyes worried.
"Mrs. Wakefield, you need to lie still. You've been through a lot."
"Where... where am I?"
"St. Mary's Hospital. You were brought in two days ago. You're lucky to be alive."
Two days.
I'd lost two days.
"Who brought me in?"
The nurse hesitated.
"Your brother, Mr. Wakefield. He found you at the estate."
James.
He found me.
He came.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost made me cry. I had been so scared, so sure that no one was coming, but he came. He always came.
"Where is he?"
"He's been here every day," the nurse said. "He's in the waiting room. I'll let him know you're awake."
She left, and I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had happened.
The estate. The fall. The marble floor. Vivian in her green dress.
But why was I at the estate? I hadn't been there in months. I'd been living in the city, keeping my distance from the family drama.
Except...
Except my father had died.
Three weeks ago.
And there had been a reading of the will.
And I had found something I wasn't supposed to find.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember. The will. The documents. The hidden accounts.
And then the attack.
Someone had hit me from behind. I'd fallen down the stairs. I'd crawled toward the phone.
And I'd called James.
The door opened, and James walked in.
He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes, his shirt wrinkled, his hair unkempt. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Claire." He rushed to my bedside, taking my hand. "Thank God. I was so worried about you."
I squeezed his hand back.
"James... what happened? Who did this to me?"
His expression shifted.
He looked at me with something that might have been guilt.
"Claire, I need to tell you something. And I need you to stay calm."
"What is it?"
"I know you don't remember everything. The doctors say you might have some memory loss from the trauma. But I have to tell you the truth."
"Just tell me."
He took a deep breath.
"Claire, you did this to yourself."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"You were... unwell. You were drinking heavily. You had a breakdown. You attacked Vivian, and when I tried to stop you, you fell down the stairs."
"No. That's not true."
"It is true. I found you, Claire. I found you lying there, and I called the ambulance. I saved your life."
I pulled my hand away from his.
"James, I don't drink. I haven't touched alcohol in years. Why are you lying to me?"
"I'm not lying. You just don't remember."
"I remember everything."
He went still.
"What?"
"I remember the will. I remember the hidden accounts. I remember what you and Vivian are doing to this family."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he stood up and walked to the door.
I thought he was leaving.
But he wasn't leaving.
He was locking the door.
"Claire," he said softly, "you were never supposed to wake up."
And that's when I knew.
May you like
My brother wasn't my savior.
He was my executioner.
