Chapter 5

The hospital was owned by Hightide Incorporated. Top of the line.

Because Hank Graves had personally vouched for me, the director himself came in from home in the middle of the night to arrange the most thorough, most comprehensive checkup money could buy.

Blood work. Allergy tests. EEG. MRI. Even genetic screening.

I lay inside those cold, precise machines, listening to their whirring hum, watching the blinking indicator lights, and felt nothing but calm.

This was the first time in twenty years I'd encountered real medicine.

Before this, my mom had only ever fed me bitter, foul-smelling "herbal remedies" from god knows where.

Two hours later, I sat in Hank's private lounge—opulent and execlusive only for him.

The hospital director walked in with a thick stack of reports, sweating under his collar.

"Mr. Graves. Miss Reed." The director adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his expression complicated and stunned.

My heart shot into my throat. My hands clenched together.

"Well?" Hank lounged on the leather sofa, legs crossed, his voice lazy but carrying the weight of absolute authority.

"Miss Reed's health..." The director swallowed hard, looking at me with a mix of sympathy and disbelief. "Aside from severe malnutrition, significant calcium deficiency, and extreme vitamin D deficiency from prolonged lack of sunlight—there are no other medical issues."

"As for the so-called severe electromagnetic radiation allergy..." He shook his head. "It's complete nonsense. We ran Miss Reed through hundreds of physical allergy tests, including electromagnetic waves and UV radiation. All results came back negative."

"Miss Reed, you are a perfectly healthy, normal human being."

*BOOM*—

Even though I'd already guessed the truth, hearing it confirmed by an authority figure hit me like a freight train. My brain went blank.

Normal.

I was normal.

I wasn't sick. I didn't need to live like a rat in a lightless tin-foil room.

I could have gone to school. Made friends. Run in the sunlight. Lived a real life.

They—my own parents—had clipped my wings and shoved me into a cage they called "love," bleeding me dry day after day.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood again. Tears fell like broken beads, silent, one after another, landing on the back of my hand.

Hank waved his hand. The director took the hint and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

We were alone.

Hank stood up, walked over, and handed me a white silk handkerchief.

"Wipe your face. You're a mess." His tone was still his usual disdain, but the gesture wasn't harsh.

I didn't take it. Instead, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist.

Hank froze. Every muscle in his body tensed.

"Just let me..." I buried my face in his tailored suit jacket, and twenty years of suppressed pain, rage, and despair exploded out of me.

I cried like a wounded animal. Ugly. Loud. Completely wrecked.

Hank didn't push me away.

He stood there, stiff and uncomfortable, letting my tears and snot ruin his extremely expensive tailor made suit.

After a long time—so long I was nearly dizzy from crying, my throat raw and silent—

A warm hand came down on the top of my head.

He rubbed my dry, brittle hair, gently.

"Cry all you want," his voice came from above me, hypnotic. "Then go get what's yours. With interest."

A pause.

"Need me to kill anyone?" Half-joking, half-serious—but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

I lifted my head. My swollen eyes burned with cold fury.

"No." My voice came out in a rasp, each word deliberate. "Death is too easy. I want them to suffer. I want them to lose everything they care about."

Hank looked at me, and a deeply satisfied smile spread across his lips.

"Good. That's what I like to see."

He turned and picked up a document from the table, tossing it in front of me.

"Sign it."

I looked down.

*Employment Contract — Special Assistant to the CEO of Hightide Incorporated Group.*

"You never went to school, did you?" Hank looked down at me like a king bestowing a decree. "I'll teach you myself. From now on, you're mine. I'll give you an identity, resources, and the whatever you need for revenge."

"And the price?" I asked. I didn't believe in free gifts. Twenty years had taught me that everything came with a hidden cost.

Hank bent down, planting his hands on either side of the sofa arm, caging me in.

Our noses almost touched. Our breath mingled.

"The price," he said, "is your life. It belongs to me now. I want absolute loyalty."

I looked into his deep, dark eyes, picked up the pen, and signed my name.

"Deal."