Chapter 10. Family Trap
1432 Words
The next morning, Grace was still at her apartment when her phone rang. It was Melanie. Her voice sounded soft, full of regret—like she wanted to make up for something. “Grace, at the hospital last time … I messed up. I cooked all your favorite food today. Come home.”
In the kitchen, Clara peeked from the doorway, her voice sharp. “Grace, don’t listen to her. She’s Patrick’s puppet. Totally blind. Why waste time on her?”
Grace replied curtly, her tone cold. “I’m busy.”
She almost hung up, but Melanie rushed in, “Grace, Patrick said your mom kept your favorite music box. He told me I should give it back to you. I’ve been keeping it. Come get it yourself.”
Grace stiffened. Melanie knew exactly what to hit her with.
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That evening, Grace decided to go to her family’s house, now fully taken over by Patrick and Melanie.
Warm cooking smells hit her as soon as she walked in. On the table sat the old music box, polished but still with the same flower carvings. Inside the lid was a small note that said, “For my beloved daughter.”
Her dad’s handwriting: clumsy, uneven, but full of love. Jonathan Whitmore, a man with no college but a big heart—he built his home and small business from scratch. After he died, Vivian—Grace’s mom—remarried. That marriage ended quickly. Vivian died suddenly before she could sort out inheritance or transfer assets to her daughter.
That gap let Patrick swoop in. He legally took control of the house and the family business. Before long, he married Melanie, and together they claimed everything that should’ve been Grace’s. The family lawyer couldn’t do anything because Patrick’s paperwork was ironclad. Somehow, Vivian’s will actually said everything went to Patrick to manage.
Grace got nothing. All the assets were legally in Patrick and Melanie’s hands. But she didn’t know about one thing: the personal savings Jonathan set aside in Grace’s name, in an account nobody could touch until she turned seventeen. That was the only real inheritance she had—and proof the family once owned something.
Grace brushed her fingers over the music box’s inscription, careful, like touching a memory. Her dad meant everything to her. He loved her without condition.
That night, Patrick and Melanie looked happy. Like they were in full control. Patrick faced Grace with a fake smile. “Grace. The heirloom is back where it belongs,” he said, handing her a glass of wine. “Let’s have a toast to our family united again.”
Grace stared at her stepdad without smiling. Calmly, flatly she said, “I just want to know one thing. How did Mom really die?”
Patrick froze. His fake smile wavered. Melanie’s hand shook as she almost spilled her wine. Patrick took a slow breath and looked away. “Your mom had a sudden heart attack. Doctors said it was complications. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a doctor.”
Grace’s lips curled into a cold smile. She lifted the wine glass and drank it down.
She put the empty glass on the table and said softly, “I’ve got things to do. I’m taking this.” She cupped the music box and headed for the door—until a man suddenly stepped toward her.
Grace stopped, frowning. “Who are you?”
The middle-aged man was well-dressed and carried himself confidently, but when he looked at Grace his eyes were full of lust, not hiding at all. A sly smile touched his lips.
Melanie set her glass down. “Grace, this is Mr. Delano, director of the city hospital. He knows about White Scalpel. He can help us with Camila.”
Grace studied the man. Delano knows White Scalpel? That was ridiculous. She smiled coldly. “What does he have to do with me?”
Melanie’s voice went flat. “Grace, if you spend the night with Mr. Delano, Camila can get treated right away.”
Grace’s wine glass stared back at her. Suddenly it clicked. They drugged her to sell her to a stranger. That’s what they’d been planning all along.
A flush of rage and disgust washed over her. She hadn’t been offered love, only betrayal. Her black eyes filled with tears—not of weakness, but wounds that ran deep. She glared at Melanie and Patrick with a silent question: how could they?
Melanie dropped her gaze, then turned toward Frank. “She’s yours.”
Frank stepped forward, rubbing his hands. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s see how good you are in bed with a body like that.”
Frank really did know about White Scalpel—a genius doctor who shook the medical world before disappearing. But no one really knew what he looked like. No official photos, no publications. Just rumors. So when they finally met, what Frank saw was just a hot woman. He didn’t realize the legend they were offering him.
Once Melanie and Patrick left, the house was quiet. Grace collapsed to the floor, almost unconscious.
Her face turned red, body trembling, breath ragged. She slid her hand into her blazer pocket for her metal pen—she carried it for emergencies. But the pocket was empty. She left it at home.
Frank was already too close. His breath hot against her neck, repulsive.
Instinctively, she grabbed a small vase from the side table and smashed it against his head. The crash echoed, followed by his groan. Blood spurted from his temple, just enough to knock him out.
Grace spun and ran. Her steps were frantic and her breaths came fast. One of her heels fell off when she stumbled. She sprinted out of the yard, ignoring where she was going. Her car had been parked right at the gate—exactly where she’d left it. But then panic hit. Her car keys were gone. Maybe they fell when she tried to fight.
Panic turned into cold dread. She kept running, clueless where to go. Suddenly, a black car screeched to a halt in front of her. The door flew open, and Grace nearly collapsed as someone spoke her name.
“Grace?”
She recognized the voice, barely. William.
Her legs almost gave out. The air felt thin, her chest tight. She tried to speak, but no words came. She just gasped and looked at him.
“Grace! Hey… look at me. What’s wrong?”
Grace shook her head, barely conscious. Her lips quivered. “Please … take me away from here.”
William didn’t ask any questions. He just stared at her, then helped her into the passenger seat. He got back behind the wheel, and in seconds, the car sped away from the house that nearly swallowed her.
She’s back at the Donovan villa. William drove her to the house she once left without looking back. Now, it hardly felt like her own place, but Grace walked inside without waiting for him.
Her legs wobbled as she went to her bedroom, opened her closet, and rifled through the shelves for the small medicine box she used to keep. How she hoped to find something to flush the drugs from her system. But it was empty. Everything had been thrown out.
Moments later she staggered and fell into William’s arms as he followed her into the room.
He caught her as she collapsed. His expression turned cold. “Grace, what’s going on with you?”
Her skin felt on fire. Without thinking, she leaned into him, seeking relief from the chill coming off him. Her eyes looked up at him, full of hope. “William … please help me …”
But before she could say more, William pushed her gently away. His eyes were flat and piercing. “What happened to you?”
Grace froze. She’d just been about to ask for help. Should she? With heavy breaths, she whispered, “They drugged me.”
William frowned. Once again, this woman pulled him into nonsense. He said, “Stay here.” He crossed the room, pulled aside the heavy curtains, grabbed his phone, and made a call.
Soft chiming from the clock filled the room as William loosened his tie, letting it hang. It gave him a careless look that only emphasized his authority.
Grace lowered her gaze. She couldn’t handle the fire in her veins.
From the speaker came Riley’s voice. “Hey man. What’s up?”
William stayed calm. “If a woman’s been drugged, what should you do?”
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