Chapter 2: The Hospital Bill
1236 Words
Seventy-two hours.
Dr. Morris’s voice was gentle but unwavering, each word punctuated by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant beeping of machines. “Without the new treatment, Noah won’t make it through the week, Evelyn. I’m so sorry.”
Evelyn nodded, though understanding eluded her.
Her brother was just eight years old—small for his age, with dark curls that bounced when he laughed, a sound that could light up the entire pediatric ward, making everyone forget the heavy air of sickness surrounding them. In Room 314, he was drawing sketches of towering buildings on his hospital tray, his dream of becoming an architect alive in his eyes. “Just like you, Evie,” he’d said, grinning wide, unaware of his fragile reality.
She couldn’t tell him he was dying.
The bill in her hand felt like a weight, a leaden anchor dragging her under. **$147,830** for one round of treatment.
Her bank account read **$412.19**.
She sank onto the cold, unyielding bench in the waiting area, pressing her forehead against her knees, trying to steady the world that spun around her.
“Miss Carter?”
Startled, she looked up. A man in a tailored black suit stood before her, his serious demeanor contrasting sharply with the vibrant chaos of the hospital. He was younger than Damien, clipboard in hand, and even without an umbrella, water dripped from his hair.
“Mr. Blackwood would like to speak with you,” he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as the rain outside. “He’s waiting.”
Evelyn shot to her feet, her heart racing. “I told him to stay away from me.”
“He assumed you would,” the man replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “He’s outside.”
---
The black Maybach sat at the ER entrance, rain cascading off its sleek exterior like tears.
Damien was inside, the window rolled down, his expression inscrutable as he watched the hospital doors. His phone lay forgotten on his lap; he wasn’t scrolling through messages or making calls. He was simply waiting.
When he spotted her, there was no smile, just a steady gaze that felt like it could pierce through the rain-soaked air.
“Get in,” he commanded, his voice edged with authority.
“No.” Evelyn crossed her arms, her damp apron clinging to her like a second skin. “I don’t take money from strangers. Especially billionaires.”
“Good,” he replied, his tone unyielding. “Because I’m not offering money.”
“What, then?” she challenged, her heart hammering in her chest.
“A contract.”
He held out a thick folder, her name printed boldly on the front: **Evelyn Carter**.
She hesitated. “I’m not signing anything.”
“You will,” he insisted. The weariness in his eyes surprised her, as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Inside that folder is approval for Noah’s treatment. Full coverage. Private room. Best specialist in the country. Effective in one hour.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “You can’t—”
“I can,” he interrupted, tapping the folder against his knee with a finality that made her stomach churn. “And I will. If you sign.”
“What’s the catch?” she asked, suspicion flooding her veins.
Damien met her gaze, his gray eyes like steel—unflinching, unwavering.
“Marry me. For one year.”
The rain seemed to grow louder, drowning out her thoughts.
“Excuse me?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, shock coursing through her.
“A marriage contract,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “Legal. Binding. You live in Blackwood Manor. You attend public events as my wife. You wear the locket at all times. You never ask about the locked west wing. You never open the old chapel. And—”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle between them.
“Never fall in love with me.”
Evelyn stared at him, incredulity etched on her face. “You’re insane.”
“Probably,” he admitted with a hint of dark humor. “But your brother dies in seventy-two hours without me. So, choose.”
She turned back to the hospital, her heart racing as she thought of Room 314. Noah’s crayon drawings—a bright, hopeful escape from reality—were stuck to the window, each one a reminder of the little boy fighting for his life.
“You don’t even know me,” she murmured, her voice breaking.
“I know you refused to walk past a freezing man in the rain,” Damien said, his intensity unwavering. “I know you wear my mother’s locket. I know you’ll do anything to keep your brother alive.”
He extended the folder again, his expression softening just a fraction.
“This isn’t love, Evelyn. This is survival. Yours and his.”
Her hands trembled as she took it.
Inside were pages of legal jargon: a marriage license, pre-nuptial agreement, rules that felt suffocating. And at the bottom, a line for her signature.
_Damien Blackwood_ was already signed in black ink, sharp and definitive.
She flipped to the last page. **If she agrees, Noah will receive the best treatment in the world. If she refuses... Damien walks away forever.**
“Why me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “There are a thousand women who would—”
“Because of the locket,” he replied simply. “And because you looked me in the eye and told me to help or get out of the way.”
Nobody had ever spoken to him like that.
Evelyn picked up the pen, her hand hovering over the paper, her heart pounding in her chest. One signature. One year. Noah lives.
With a deep breath, she signed.
_Evelyn Carter._
The moment the ink dried, Damien’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. “Treatment’s authorized. They’re prepping Noah now.”
Evelyn felt her legs weaken, the world tilting beneath her. “You’re lying.”
“Check,” he said, his calm demeanor unsettling.
Her phone rang in her pocket—an unknown number. A wave of dread washed over her.
“Miss Carter? This is St. Catherine’s. We just received full payment and transfer approval for Noah Carter’s treatment. He’s being moved to the ICU wing in twenty minutes.”
The line went dead.
Evelyn looked up at Damien, her heart pounding. In that moment, she didn’t see a billionaire; she saw a man who had just bought her life for a year.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Now,” he said, closing the car door with a click that echoed in the damp air, “you come home with me.”
“Home?”
“Blackwood Manor.” His expression turned cold again, the walls rising back around him. “Where the rules start.”
As the car pulled away from the hospital, Evelyn clutched the contract to her chest, feeling the weight of her decision settle over her like a storm cloud. She thought she’d sold one year of her life.
What she didn’t know was that she had just stepped into a twenty-year conspiracy.
And someone inside Blackwood Manor was already watching her arrival.
- Writer
