lia

ance of Cameron Vinson was just a glitch, a momentary tremor in the otherwise calm la

seemed, had other pla

ions to a room full of glazed-over teenagers, my phone vibrated

t the prognosis was grim. And the cost? A staggering $300,000, not including post-operative care. My

nd I shared. Each avenue led to a dead end. Despair, a cold, heavy cloak, settled around me. I sat by his bedside, watchi

n unknown number. My stomach

oice hoarse from

ili

now? A cold dread seeped into my bones. His network, his reach, was far m

ber?" I demanded, my voic

d through the line. "Does it matter, Emilia

ain. The smooth, calm voice that always mana

y. "I've already arranged for Dr. Lena Hansen, the neurosurgeon from Mount Sinai, to b

ssible. That kind of elite medical care was beyond the wildest dreams of my current

h the words felt hollow and weak even to my own ears. My father'

foolish, Emilia. This isn't about you. This is about Gilbe

n, sliced through me. He knew my weakness. He always had. My fa

I whispered, the wo

e dismissive. "For now, focus on Gilbert. I'l

s power, on my most vulnerable moment. My father' s life was being saved, yes, but at what cost to my soul? I was trapped, caught in his web once more,