CHAPTER 5
1106 Words
ISLA
The first thing I registered was the beeping.
A rhythmic, incessant sound that punctuated the sterile silence.
Then came the smell—antiseptic, sharp and clean, clinging to the air like an unshakable presence.
I shifted slightly, feeling the stiff sheets beneath me. White walls. Bright lights. Cold air.
A hospital.
My eyelids fluttered open, and the world blurred before slowly sharpening into focus. My body felt heavy, sluggish, as if I had been submerged in water and was only now resurfacing.
A figure moved to my side, a soft shuffle of shoes against the tile. "Ah, you're awake," a voice said, warm yet clinical.
I turned my head, blinking at the middle-aged man in a white coat, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, his eyes sharp and assessing. A doctor.
My throat was dry as sandpaper, but I managed to croak out, “Where am I?”
The doctor gave me a polite smile. “You’re in the hospital.”
I stared at him, deadpan. “Obviously. I can see that. But where?”
His smile wavered, and he let out a small sigh, as if he had been expecting that response. “You’re in London. You were brought here unconscious.”
London?
Oh that's true. I left the Red Moon Pack and came to London.
I struggled to sit up, wincing at the soreness in my body. Everything ached. My arms, my legs, even my ribs.
The doctor placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Easy there. You’re still recovering.”
I exhaled shakily. “Who brought me here?”
The doctor’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face before he spoke. “A man.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A man?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, crossing his arms. “A mysterious man, to be precise. He brought you in, paid your medical bills in full, and left you a significant amount of money for your recovery.”
I blinked. What?
A mysterious man?
My fingers curled around the hospital blanket as I tried to process his words. “Did he… say anything?”
“No.” The doctor shook his head. “He left before we could get his name. He didn’t give us any information—just ensured you were taken care of and then disappeared.”
I inhaled deeply, glancing at the nurses behind him. They stood near the doorway, their faces a mix of curiosity and pity.
My mind wandered and I could remember the silhouette of the man and his scent…
Sandalwood.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Do you remember what happened before you were brought here?”
I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the sheets. Yes, I remembered.
I remembered the moonlit ceremony, Luca’s cold eyes, and the crowd’s sneers. The sound of my own heartbeat crashing in my ears as he rejected me.
I remembered being hit by the deer and the car light.
“I…” My voice cracked. “I don’t remember much after I left.”
The doctor gave a sympathetic nod. “That’s not unusual. You were brought unconscious, severely dehydrated, and in a state of exhaustion.”
I sighed, rubbing my temple. “What’s my condition now?”
“You’re stable,” he reassured me. “You suffered from fatigue, malnourishment, and minor injuries, but nothing life-threatening. However, you’ll need to focus on getting proper rest, staying on vitamins, and eating well.”
I let out a dry laugh. Right. Eating well.
As if I had a home to go back to.
I turned back to him. “What about the man? Are you sure no one saw his face?”
The doctor shook his head. “No. He kept his identity hidden.”
I exhaled, leaning back against the pillows. “Of course he did.”
I took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside. “I want to get discharged.”
The doctor studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. The nurses will bring your things.”
One of the nurses, a young woman with auburn hair, walked forward. “Before you go, we need your account details so we can transfer the money your benefactor left for you.”
I frowned. “What?”
She smiled. “He left you a million pounds.”
My brain short-circuited.
A million pounds?!
Who was he? And why had he helped me that much?
He hit me after all.
I stared at her, mouth slightly agape. “And you’re just… handing it over?”
The nurse chuckled. “It’s yours. We just need your account information to transfer it.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. My hands clenched around the sheets.
“I don’t… I don’t have an account.”
Silence.
The nurses all froze, staring at me like I had just sprouted a second head.
The auburn-haired one blinked. “You don’t have a bank account?”
I crossed my arms. “You heard me.”
A blonde nurse gasped. “But—how?!”
A male nurse scratched his head. “I thought everyone had one in this century.”
Another nurse whispered, “Even kids have bank accounts nowadays.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, congratulations. You’ve found the one adult in London who doesn’t.”
They exchanged incredulous looks.
The blonde nurse muttered, “What do we do now?”
The doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Just give her the money in cash.”
The blonde gasped again. “A million pounds? In cash?”
“Would you prefer we wire it to an imaginary account?” the doctor deadpanned.
I smirked. Finally, someone who understood sarcasm.
The nurses still looked scandalized, but I waved a dismissive hand. “Relax. I’ll figure something out.”
Eventually, after much grumbling, they handed me a thick envelope.
I peeked inside, my breath hitching. Thick stacks of hundred-pound notes.
My hands trembled slightly as I zipped the envelope into my bag.
I had money. I had no home, no phone, no ID—but I had money.
I stepped out of the hospital doors and into the night air.
The streets of London stretched before me, unfamiliar and daunting.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself, my mind racing.
What now?
I had nowhere to go. No one to turn to.
And I had no idea who my mysterious savior was.
I inhaled deeply, my breath visible in the cold air.
One thing was certain.
I wasn’t going back to my old life.
I would find my own way.
And whoever had saved me, I would find them.
- Writer
