Chapter 2

　　The hospital corridor smelled of bleach and fear. I paced back and forth under the harsh white lights, eyes locked on the glowing red sign above the operating room doors: In Use.

　　Every tick of the clock felt like it was counting down what little hope I had left. One hour. Sixty minutes of wondering whether I had saved Grandma or just sold myself to a devil I'd never even met.

　　August Harrington. The name alone sent ice down my spine. I still didn't know what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, or why a man that rich needed a fake wife.

　　But he had approved the money without argument. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, wired instantly. That had to mean something, right?

　　Maybe he's not the monster the contract suggests, I whispered to the empty hallway. Maybe he has a heart.

　　The red light finally flickered off. My stomach dropped. When the doors opened and Dr. Arin stepped out, pulling down his mask, I rushed forward on shaky legs.

　　"Doctor, please. How is she?"

　　He gave me a tired but genuine smile.

　　"She made it, Spring. The pressure is relieved. Another thirty minutes and we might have lost her, but her fighting spirit pulled her through. She's stable for now."

　　Relief crashed over me so hard my knees buckled. I dropped right there in the hallway, forehead pressed to the cold floor.

　　"Thank you… thank you so much," I whispered, voice cracking. Tears soaked the tiles beneath my face.

　　"You saved her life. I can't thank you enough. I will never forget this."

　　​The doctor flinched, looking startled by my raw display of emotion.

　　Dr. Arin gently helped me up.

　　"Hey, none of that. She's going to need you stronger than ever when she wakes up. The recovery will be long, but she has a real chance now."

　　"Can I see her?" I asked, my voice cracking and my eyes blurred by a fresh wave of tears.

　　"Not yet. She's still under heavy anesthesia. Wait until she wakes up."

　　​I nodded, my breath still hitching in my chest. I was a disaster—hair matted, eyes swollen to the size of golf balls, my cheap dress wrinkled and stained.

　　I felt exposed, a raw nerve in the middle of a public hallway, when a white handkerchief appeared in front of me.

　　"You're making the place look untidy," a deep, mocking voice said.

　　"At least wipe your face before you flood the hallway."

　　I looked up. A tall man leaned against the wall like he owned the hospital—broad shoulders, sharp brown eyes, and an arrogant smirk that instantly set my teeth on edge.

　　He was handsome in that rich, untouchable way that usually meant trouble.

　　I snatched the handkerchief.

　　"I didn't ask for your opinion."

　　He shrugged.

　　"I just hate seeing ugly crying. Ruins my mood."

　　Before I could snap back, his assistant came rushing down the hall.

　　"Mr. Ashford! The Old Madam has been asking for you in the VIP wing."

　　Ashford didn't even glance at him. His eyes stayed on me, amused.

　　"Tell her I was delayed by an aesthetic emergency. Some ugly duckling was creating a scene."

　　His assistant turned bright red. "I'm so sorry, miss—"

　　"Save it," I cut in, glaring at Ashford.

　　"I can see why they call you Ashford. You're full of hot air and ash."

　　He chuckled, low and lazy, as I shoved past him. His laughter followed me down the corridor like he'd already won whatever game he thought we were playing.

　　By three o'clock I was back in our tiny apartment, throwing clothes into my old suitcase with shaking hands.

　　Grandma's carved wooden bird, a few worn sweaters, my textbooks...everything that mattered. The black Maybach waiting outside honked again, impatient.

　　There was no time to check if I'd packed everything. Punctuality mattered now. I was Party B, a piece of property on a three-year lease.

　　I grabbed my lumpy bags and dashed out the door. A man stepped out.

　　"Hello, Ms. Willow. I'm Mr. Harrington's personal assistant. Mr. Harrington is expecting you and send me to come pick you up."

　　"I'm sorry for the trouble," I said nervously, my voice barely a whisper.

　　"How should I address you?"

　　"You may call me Assistant Fanel, Ms. Willow." He opened the door for me, his expression perfectly blank.

　　I glanced back at the little home Grandma and I had shared. It looked so small and fragile against the backdrop of the luxury car.

　　My throat tightened as the Maybach pulled away, shrinking my past until it disappeared entirely.

　　Tears pricked my eyes, but I fought them back. Assistant Fanel cleared his throat and said gently, "Don't worry, Ms. Willow. You can return home whenever you wish."

　　I gave a small nod, but my heart whispered a different story. Something told me that the doors I was about to walk through only opened one way.

　　The drive lasted nearly forty minutes, taking us into a part of the city I had only seen in magazines. Finally, the Maybach rolled to a stop.

　　As soon as the car finally pulled up to Harrington Manor, my mouth went dry. The place was massive. From white stone, towering windows to perfectly manicured grounds.

　　It looked like a palace built to remind people like me exactly where we belonged.

　　Assistant Fanel helped me unload my luggage, then excused himself with a quick bow, disappearing back into the car.

　　A stern woman in a grey uniform met me at the entrance.

　　I approached, awkwardly balancing my bags.

　　"Um… hi, I'm Spring Willow."

　　"I know. Follow me." She didn't offer to help with my bags. I struggled after her, up the grand staircase.

　　Well, her tone was almost rude, I thought as I scratched my head in confusion but didn't argue. I followed her inside, and the hall glittered with extravagant décor.

　　Servants moved but their eyes never rising to meet mine. They didn't even spare me a glance. I was a nobody to them.

　　"Why are you standing there?" the servant snapped from halfway up the grand marble stairs.

　　One of them muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "Another gold digger. These never last."

　　My cheeks burned, but I kept my mouth shut.

　　"Sorry," I said quickly, offering a small, nervous smile that she didn't return.

　　"Gawking at the mansion?" she muttered, loud enough for me to hear.

　　"Don't get used to it."

　　I flinched but didn't defend myself. I couldn't. To her, that's exactly what I was.

　　She stopped at a massive set of double doors on the second floor. "This will be your room.

　　And the young master's. If you need anything…" She smirked, a cruel, knowing twist of her lips.

　　"Do it yourself. We aren't here to serve you."

　　Her heels clicked sharply down the hall, leaving me alone with my luggage and the heavy, oppressive silence of the manor.

　　I took a deep breath, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle. I pushed open the door and froze.

　　My heart leapt into my throat when I saw the wall... My suitcase slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a thud.