SADIE SINCLAIR

I was shaking with anger when I pulled into the hospital, sweating through my shirt, hands trembling so bad I nearly dropped the keys.

The old Dodge Ram groaned as I yanked the parking brake, too slow and old for what I needed right now. I jumped out before the engine even stopped, slammed the door behind me, and rounded the front like the ground was on fire.

“Dad?” I whispered, yanking his door open. He was slumped in the seat, pale. Unmoving. His mouth was open just slightly.

He wasn’t breathing.

My stomach twisted.

I ran.

Through the automatic doors, past the front desk, down the halls I’d memorized too well over the last four years. Left at the mural of the painted seascape. Right where the vending machines were always out of order. Left again. Oncology wing. Dad’s room was always second to the last door in that hallway. Room 247.

Except this time, the door was wide open. And there were nurses inside. Packing things up. Stripping the bed. Clearing the monitors.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed, voice breaking. “Where is the fucking doctor?!”

One of the nurses looked up, startled, like she wanted to speak, but I’d already turned, already storming down the hall, and nearly collided into him.

Dr. Helm.

He blinked at me, like I wasn’t supposed to be there yet. “Sadie. I was just about to call—”

“Don’t you fucking ‘Sadie’ me,” I snapped, grabbing a fistful of his coat, eyes brimming with tears. “My father is outside. In the truck. He isn’t breathing. He hasn’t moved since we got here. You let a stage four cancer patient just… what? Leave his hospital bed? Wander out into traffic?!”

“Please,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk in the hallway.”

I shoved him back stubbornly but followed, stumbling once, my shoe skidded on the slick floor. I slammed into the door frame, caught myself, and kept going.

Helm stopped beside a supply cart. He looked exhausted. Like he’d aged since last week. “Sadie, your father can’t be admitted here anymore.”

“What the hell do you mean?” My voice quivered. “This hospital has been treating him for years. You know how bad it’s gotten. You know he almost can’t breathe without help. He can’t eat. He needs oxygen and meds and pain relief…. what the fuck do you mean you can’t admit him?”

Helm didn’t look at me.”I got a call—”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “What call? From who?”

He stayed quiet.

“Who?” I demanded again, stepping closer. “Who the fuck made this call?”

Still nothing.

His silence only made it worse. My hands trembled harder, my throat clogged. I grabbed his coat again, and shook him, hot tears blinded me.

“Who’s the fucking bastard?! My father has been paying his bills! He’s been scraping for every goddamn dollar…!”

Helm looked me in the eye. Calm. Unfazed. “No,” he said. “Not for the past month.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Your father hasn’t paid a single cent since May. The account has been covered. Quietly. By someone else.”

My stomach dropped. “By who?”

Helm hesitated.

My heart slammed. “By fucking who, Helm?!”

He exhaled. “Mr. Wolfe.”

I stumbled back a step like he’d hit me. “No,” I whispered. “No.”

That bastard.

Of course.

My father had lied to me. Again. Kept things hidden. Just like he had about the loans. Just like he had about how deep in the red we really were. Just like he had when he promised we would never be selling Silvermane.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to vomit. Instead, I just asked, “So what now? What happens now, doctor?”

Helm looked down. “Now that the funding has been pulled… there’s nothing I can do. Not unless you can take over payment yourself.”

I laughed. It sounded like a sob. “You mean his life has a price tag now? Is that what we’re doing? Is that what we’ve been doing all along?”

“I don’t make the rules,” Helm said quietly. “Wolfe owns thirty-six percent of this hospital. He called the board. If I admit your father now, I could lose my license.”

“You’re telling me,” I said slowly, trembling, “that you’re letting a dying man rot in the fucking parking lot because a rich bastard made a call?”

“I’m telling you,” he said softly, “my hands are tied.”

I pressed my palms to my temples, tried to breathe, but the floor tilted under me. “Okay,” I choked out. “How much. What would it take to keep him here?”

Helm glanced over his clipboard. “Thirty thousand a week. Maybe a little less if we reduce hospice but given his deterioration….”

Thirty thousand.

I closed my eyes. Thought about the horses. The stables. The fields. The oak trees. The sunrises. The scent of warm hay and wildflowers. The only thing I had left.

I thought about selling it. All of it.

And I thought about Cassian. The smugness in his voice. The way he had looked at me and told me to burn the stables to the ground. How he always knew I’d crawl to him eventually. He was winning. And I was still here, helpless.

“I can sell the horses,” I said, voice shaking. “Or… or maybe the east pasture. Or maybe the whole estate. Is that enough?”

Before Helm could get a damn word out, the doors at the end of the hall slammed open like they’d been kicked in.

Cassian-fucking-Wolfe strolled in like he owned the hospital. Like this was all a stage and he’d just showed up for the final act. That same smug-ass smile stretched across his face, the kind that made you want to throw a punch before he even said a word.

“Sadie,” he drawled, lips twitching like he was already laughing at some private joke. “Now that we’re finally face to face again… I’m here to offer you the deal of a lifetime. Try not to faint.”

I didn’t even blink. My nails dug into my palms. My jaw locked.

“What about my father?” I snapped, every word shaking with rage. “Or would you let him die in a goddamn truck? That your new thing now? Letting old men rot while you seal the deal?”

Cassian’s smile widened like I’d just asked him to dance. “Your father?” he said, slow and slick, voice dipped in fake sympathy.

“Oh, he’s not missing a thing. Front row seat. Thank God the truck didn’t finish the job first. Christ, Sadie, you really drive him around in that death trap?”

That’s when I heard the gurney wheels.

Two nurses came down the hallway, pushing what was left of my father. He looked half-dead. Skin waxy. Barely breathing.

Cassian didn’t even glance at him.

He looked at Helm and gave him a little nod like they were old fucking buddies. “Appreciate the help, Doc. Now get back to saving his sorry ass before I start thinking you’re slacking.”

He turned to me, eyes crinkling at the sides, that damn smirk playing like he’d been waiting for this exact second.

He tilted his head, like he was tasting the moment.

“And now,” he said, voice low and slow, “Sadie Sinclair… I know you’re dying to ask. Why Silvermane?”