Bound To Six Dangerous Hearts

"Please! Don't take it off!" My scream echoed through the intensive care unit. The nurse didn't even flinch. Two orderlies caught my arms before I could reach my mother's bed. "No! Let me go!" I fought against their grip so hard my shoulder burned. "She still needs it! She needs oxygen! Please!" "Miss Vale, calm down." "Don't tell me to calm down!" My voice cracked. "She's still breathing! Look at her! She's still breathing!" The oxygen mask disappeared into a metal tray. I watched it happen. I watched them remove the one thing my terrified mind believed was keeping my mother alive. "No..." My knees almost gave way. "Oh, God... no..." My mother's eyelids fluttered. Her lips moved weakly beneath the tangle of tubes. I couldn't hear what she was trying to say. I pulled harder against the people holding me. "Mummy!" The word tore itself out of me. "Mummy, please!" A doctor stepped between us. "Seraphina." "Move!" "Listen to me." "I said move!" "Your mother is stable." I froze. "...What?" "The oxygen isn't being withdrawn because she's dying." He paused. "It's being moved." I stared at him, unable to understand. "What are you talking about?" "The operating room reservation has been canceled." The world stopped. "The anonymous donor withdrew payment this morning." "What?" "The surgery can no longer proceed." His words hit harder than a slap. "No... that's impossible." He sighed, and for the first time, I saw something close to pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry." "You called me an hour ago." My voice shook. "You said everything was ready. You said the donor had transferred the money." "They did." "Then why would they take it back?" "We don't know." My heart pounded so hard it hurt. "Call them again." "We already have." "Then keep calling!" "There isn't a number." I blinked. "What?" "The donation was made through a private trust. Every instruction came through lawyers." Lawyers. Not family. Not friends. Lawyers. I looked past him to my mother's bed. She looked so small beneath the white sheets. Only yesterday she had squeezed my hand and whispered that everything would be alright. She'd smiled despite the pain. She always smiled for me. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "How much?" The doctor hesitated. "Miss Vale..." "Tell me." "The remaining balance is four hundred and eighty thousand dollars." The number stole the air from my lungs. Four hundred and eighty thousand. I barely had enough money to pay next month's rent. I'd spent years restoring damaged paintings, ancient books, and family heirlooms for museums and private collectors. It paid enough to keep us alive, never enough to save a life. "I'll find it," I whispered. The doctor looked away. "The hospital requires payment before the operating room can be reopened." "I said I'll find it." Even as the words left my mouth, I had no idea how. I had already sold my father's watch. My car. My grandmother's jewelry. Everything that meant anything. There was nothing left. A soft knock interrupted the silence. Three slow knocks. Everyone in the room turned toward the door. A man in a perfectly tailored black suit stepped inside as though he had all the time in the world. He carried no flowers. No sympathy. Only a cream-colored folder sealed with dark red wax. His eyes settled on me. "Miss Seraphina Vale?" I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. "Who are you?" "My name is Adrian Mercer." His voice was calm, almost gentle. "I represent House Vesper." "I don't." "You will." My stomach tightened. "I think you've got the wrong person." "I assure you, I don't." He walked closer and held out the folder. "I have an offer." "I'm not interested." "It concerns your mother's operation." Every muscle in my body went still. "What did you say?" "I can have the operating room reopened within the hour." Hope exploded inside me before caution could stop it. "How?" "In exchange for your signature." He opened the folder. Inside lay a thick document. Across the top, in elegant lettering, were the words: Marriage Contract. I looked up at him, certain I'd read it wrong. "I'm sorry..." He met my eyes without blinking. "You heard me correctly." The room suddenly felt too small. "I don't even know you." "You don't need to." "I am not marrying a stranger." "You aren't marrying one." A strange sadness crossed his face. "You are marrying a family." He slid the contract into my trembling hands. As I stared at the first page, something cold ran through me. There were six signature lines. Five had already been signed. Only one remained empty. Mine. And at the very top of the page, just beneath the title, one sentence was written in bold letters. Your funeral is tomorrow. My blood turned to ice. I looked up. "What does that mean?" Adrian's expression never changed. "It means, Miss Vale..." He paused. "...legally, you died yesterday."