Chapter 105
Sienna's pov
I was about to reach for an apple when her words stopped me. I set it back without opening my eyes.
“Go ahead.”
If there were any way to get away from Harrison Blackwood, I’d take it. But give up everything I had now? A bitter laugh curled in my chest.
What did I even have?
If hatred counted, then that.
“Find a way to fake your death,” Luna said, leaning closer, voice bright with the thrill of a bad idea. “Or just vanish. Wouldn’t that be an escape?”
Her excitement made my stomach tighten.
“Luna, this is Harrison’s turf.” I kept my voice low. “Watch what you say. If he hears you, it’s over before it starts.”
Could I fake my death?
Not impossible. Just nearly.
Harrison’s reach covered New Haven like a net. To disappear for real, or to sell a death he’d believe, I’d need someone who could stand against him—someone with power, and the nerve to use it.
Julian Vane came to mind immediately.
He could help. And he would.
The thought sank in and stayed there, heavy and stubborn, like it had been waiting for me to admit it.
“Seriously?” Luna glanced around, suddenly cautious, then dropped into a whisper anyway. “He’s still watching you that closely? I’ve been talking so much trash about Harrison. Do you think he heard me?”
“Even if he did,” I said, letting a sliver of teasing through, “have you ever truly been scared? I think Alexander scares you more.”
Luna’s face heated. “That’s not fear. It’s just… old feelings.”
I didn’t push. I stood, blinking until my vision cleared.
“Luna, I want to visit Grandma at the hospital.”
Two months. That was how long it had been since I’d seen Agnes. Two months of wondering what Harrison had told her, what lies he’d wrapped in concern.
Did she know about my car accident?
God. I hoped not.
Luna’s expression softened. “Didn’t you ask me before, back when you wanted me to bring her to stay with you? Grandma didn’t want to go, so I didn’t force it.”
She paused, then added, “Alexander and I have visited a few times. We only mentioned Victor, and her health has been improving.”
That didn’t surprise me. The rehab center was safe, controlled—an orderly little world where she could pretend the rest didn’t exist.
“Who did you go with?” I arched a brow. “Sounds like things with Alexander aren’t as strained as I thought.”
“Don’t get it twisted,” Luna said quickly. “Alexander knew Grandma wouldn’t welcome him, so he asked me to come. And he’s a doctor. He understands her condition. That matters.”
I let it go.
If Alexander had been visiting, it was probably at Harrison’s direction. Harrison couldn’t do everything himself, no matter how much he liked to hold every thread. And he still told me nothing. Not a detail. Not a warning.
We headed to the hospital.
Agnes was still in the same rehabilitation wing. The place was quiet and bright, the kind of calm that felt manufactured. The air carried that familiar hospital bite—cleaner and something faintly floral, like it was trying too hard.
At the hallway, Luna’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. “Work. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded and continued alone.
Agnes’s door was shut. I reached for the handle and tried it.
Locked.
Cold dread slid down my spine. Hospital rooms weren’t supposed to lock like this.
I knocked, hard. “Grandma? Are you in there?”
No answer.
The silence pressed in. Too thick. Too wrong.
I turned to find a nurse—and the door swung open.
Elena Whitmore.
“Sienna,” she said softly, smile gentle enough to fool a stranger. Her eyes didn’t match it. Something sharp flickered there, then vanished. “You’re here.”
“What are you doing here?” I stepped forward, but she shifted to block the doorway with deliberate ease.
“Grandma is resting,” Elena said. “Don’t disturb her.”
“Move.”
If it had been anyone else, maybe I would’ve hesitated. But Elena didn’t get the benefit of my doubt. Not anymore.
The hallway was empty. No staff nearby. No witnesses.
Elena sighed like I was the problem. “I told you she’s resting. Why won’t you listen to your sister?”
“I’m not playing this game.” My voice stayed low, but my hands were already shaking. “Why are you stopping me? What do you want?”
For a split second, her expression slipped. Not sadness. Not concern. Something pleased.
Then a faint cough came from inside.
My breath caught. I pushed forward.
This time, Elena let me pass.
I crossed the threshold and went straight to the bed.
Agnes looked awful.
Her face was pale, her breathing uneven, her eyes dull in a way that made my stomach drop. I leaned close, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Grandma. I’m here. How do you feel?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I slammed the call button.
Nurses rushed in, and the moment they saw her, their faces changed. They moved fast, efficient and tense, bringing equipment straight into the room.
“Emergency intervention,” someone said. “Right here.”
Machines beeped. Commands snapped back and forth. Agnes’s bed became the center of a storm.
I stayed close enough to see every twitch of her mouth, every flutter of her lashes. My gaze kept cutting to Elena at the edge of the room.
It had to be her.
Why else lock the door? Why else keep me out?
Luna burst in, breathless. Her eyes flew to the equipment, the nurses, Agnes. “Sienna—what happened?” Her voice cracked. “I thought she was getting better.”
“Who’s to say someone didn’t poison her?” The words came out flat and icy. I didn’t look at Elena when I said them. I didn’t need to.
The nurses worked, then worked harder. Still, their expressions didn’t ease. One hurried out to get the attending doctor.
A nurse turned to me, voice gentler now, the way people speak when they’re about to hand you grief. “Ms. Price, you’re family, correct? Her blood pressure is dropping. She may not have much time. If you need to say anything… do it now.”
My mind went blank.
“Not much time?” I heard myself ask. The words sounded wrong in the room. “She was fine a moment ago.”
I looked at Elena.
She stood there with that controlled calm, her mouth curving as if she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
The nurse swallowed. “Sometimes patients deteriorate quickly. It can happen unexpectedly, even in the hospital.”
My legs felt unsteady as I moved closer, as if the ground had tilted. I reached for Agnes’s hand. Her fingers were cold—too cold—and terrifyingly light.
Agnes was still partly conscious. When she saw me, relief softened her features.
“Sienna…” Her voice was paper-thin. “From now on… you’ll have to rely on yourself.”
“No,” I whispered, but I didn’t know what I was arguing with—her words, her weakness, the way time was stealing her.
Agnes shifted, gathering what little strength she had. With trembling effort, she reached under the blanket and pressed a small cloth bag into my palm.
“This was left by your mother,” she breathed. “It’s yours now.”
I closed my fingers around it, feeling the worn fabric against my skin, and my chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.