Cruel Inheritance

CHAPTER FOUR

Three days passed like three years.

Kira fell into a rhythm. Wake before dawn. Eat whatever appears on the tray. Sit in her room and stare at the walls until someone came to move her. Breakfast with Damien in silence. Lunch alone. Dinner with Damien in colder silence. Then night — and whatever he demanded from her in the dark.

She did not say no.

She had stopped believing she had the right.

Sofia was kept separate. A different floor. Different guards. Kira was allowed to see her for fifteen minutes each morning and fifteen minutes each evening. Nothing more.

The guards watched. The servants whispered. The mansion breathed around her like a living thing and Kira was a ghost inside it.

On the third morning, something changed.

Breakfast was the same as always.

Damien sat at the head of the table, reading reports on a tablet, ignoring both of them. Kira sat at the far end. Sofia sat between them, picking at her eggs, her small face pale in the morning light.

She had been quieter than usual. Not talking. Not squirming. Just... sitting.

Kira watched her carefully.

"Sofia," she said softly. "Eat your bread."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat."

"My tummy feels funny."

Kira's heart clenched. "What kind of funny?"

Sofia shrugged. "Just funny."

Damien looked up from his tablet. His eyes moved to Sofia — cold, assessing, uninterested.

"If she's not hungry, don't force her. I won't have her vomiting on my table."

"She needs to eat. She's sick. She loses weight easily."

"Then you should have taken better care of her."

The words were a slap. Kira's hands curled into fists under the table.

You have no idea. You have no idea what it took to keep her alive.

Sofia pushed her plate away. "Can I go back to my room?"

"Finish your eggs," Damien said.

"I don't want them."

"Finish them anyway."

Sofia looked at Kira. Help. Kira gave a small, helpless shake of her head. Just do what he says.

Sofia picked up her fork. Took a bite. Chewed.

Her face went gray.

Kira saw it happen in slow motion.

The fork slipped from Sofia's fingers. It clattered against the plate, then the floor. Sofia's eyes went wide and unfocused. Her small body swayed in the chair.

"Sofia?"

Kira was on her feet. Her chair crashed behind her.

"Sofia, baby —"

The girl's eyes rolled back. Her head lolled forward. She slid sideways in the chair, limp and pale and terrifyingly still.

Kira screamed.

She didn't remember crossing the room. She was just there on her knees, Sofia in her arms, the girl's weight too light and too heavy all at once.

"Sofia. Sofia. Open your eyes. Baby, please —"

The girl's lips were blue. Her breathing was shallow — too shallow, too fast, a hummingbird's heartbeat in a body that couldn't keep up.

"Someone help!" Kira screamed. "HELP US!"

Damien was standing. She hadn't seen him move. His face was still stone but something flickered behind his eyes. Something she couldn't name.

"Get the doctor," he said to a guard. His voice was calm. Controlled. "Now."

The guard ran.

Kira pressed her ear to Sofia's chest. The heartbeat was there — weak, irregular, but there. Still there.

"Stay with me," she whispered, crying. "Stay with me, baby. Please."

Sofia did not open her eyes.

Damien knelt across from her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to see.

"She's cold," he said.

"I know."

"Is this normal?"

"No." Kira's voice broke. "This is not normal. This is bad."

Damien looked at Sofia. Really looked. Not the cold assessment of a prisoner's child but something else. Something that looked almost like concern.

Almost.

"The doctor is two minutes away. She'll be fine."

"You don't know that."

"I know that my doctor is the best in the country."

Kira held Sofia tighter.

The doctor arrived. Older man. Gray hair. Steady hands. He pushed Kira aside gently and leaned over Sofia.

"History?" he asked.

"Congenital heart defect," Kira said. "Diagnosed at birth. She takes medication twice daily."

The doctor examined Sofia. Listened to her chest. Checked her pulse.

"She's stable. But her oxygen saturation is low. Too low. When was her last cardiology appointment?"

"Three months ago."

"She needs a full workup. Echocardiogram. Blood work. I can do some of it here, but she needs a specialist."

"Then bring a specialist here," Damien said. "I don't care what it costs. Fix her."

The doctor nodded and left.

Kira was alone with Damien and her unconscious daughter.

The room was silent.

"She's not waking up," Kira whispered.

"She will."

"How do you know?"

Damien looked at Sofia. At her dark curls. At her pale cheeks. Her small chest rising and falling.

"Because she has your stubbornness. And that's hard to kill."

Kira stared at him.

It was the first kind thing he had said in five years.

Sofia woke an hour later.

Kira was sitting beside her bed, in a room that looked less like a cell and more like a child's bedroom. Someone had brought toys. Stuffed animals. A blanket with stars on it.

Damien's doing? She didn't know.

"Mama?" Sofia's voice was small. Raspy.

"I'm here, baby."

"Did I faint again?"

"Yes."

"Was the scary man there?"

"Yes."

"Did he look mad?"

"He looked concerned."

Sofia frowned. "What's concerned?"

"It means worried."

"Why would he be worried? He doesn't like me."

Kira brushed the curls from Sofia's forehead. "Maybe he likes you more than he wants to admit."

The door opened. Damien stood in the doorway. He was holding a small box of juice. Apple. Sofia's favorite.

Kira stared at him. "How did you know —"

"I asked the guard what she liked." He walked past Kira and set the juice on the bedside table. He didn't look at Sofia. Didn't touch her. Just set it down and stepped back.

"Thank you," Kira said.

"I didn't do it for you."

Sofia looked at the juice. Then at Damien. "You brought me an apple."

"Yes."

"It's my favorite."

"I know."

She picked up the box and held it like something precious.

"Why are you being nice?" she asked.

Damien's jaw tightened. "I'm not being nice. I'm being practical. Sick children are inconvenient."

"Oh."

Sofia's face fell. Kira wanted to hit him.

Instead, she helped Sofia drink. Some color returned to her cheeks.

"The doctor will be back tonight," Damien said. "He's bringing a cardiologist. We'll know more by morning."

"Thank you."

"Stop thanking me." His voice was sharp. "I'm not your savior. I'm your jailer. Don't confuse the two."

He left.

Kira watched him go. Through the c***k in the door, she saw him in the hallway, talking to a guard. His voice was low. She couldn't hear the words.

But she saw his face.

He looked worried.

He's not supposed to worry, she thought. He's supposed to hate her. That's the only way this works.

If he starts caring —

If he starts asking questions —

Marco will know.

And Marco will kill her.

Kira held Sofia tighter and prayed for a miracle.

The cardiologist arrived at eight that night.

A woman. Young. Sharp-eyed. She introduced herself as Dr. Velez and got to work immediately. She asked Kira questions. Listened to Sofia's chest. Studied the old medical records.

Damien stood in the corner. Watching. Silent.

Dr. Velez sat back. Her face was serious.

"Her condition is worse than your records indicate. Without intervention, she has six months. Maybe less."

Kira's world stopped.

"Six months?"

"The medication is barely holding her. She needs surgery. A repair. And eventually within a year or two she'll need a transplant."

"A transplant," Damien repeated. "As in bone marrow."

"Yes."

"Where do you get bone marrow for a four-year-old?"

"A donor. A match." Dr. Velez looked at Kira. "Ideally, a parent. Blood relatives are the fastest match."

Kira's blood went cold.

Ideally, a parent.

Damien looked at Kira. "You're not a match?"

"I don't know. I was never tested."

"Then get tested."

"I will."

"And the father?" Dr. Velez asked. "Where is he?"

Kira couldn't speak.

Damien answered for her. "Not here."

"Can you reach out to him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Damien's jaw tightened. "Because he's dead to me."

Dr. Velez was smart enough not to ask more questions.

"I'll run the tests tonight. Surgery can be scheduled within the week. But the transplant — that's the real clock. Without a donor, she goes on the national list. The wait is two to three years."

"She doesn't have two to three years," Kira whispered.

"No," Dr. Velez agreed. "She doesn't."

The room was silent.

Sofia was asleep in the bed, the juice box still clutched in her small hand. She looked fragile. Breakable.

Damien walked to the window. Stared out at the dark garden.

"Run the tests," he said. "Schedule the surgery. And find me a donor."

"I'll do my best."

"Your best isn't good enough." He turned. His face was stone but his eyes were fire. "She's not dying in my house. Do you understand me?"

Dr. Velez nodded. "I understand."

She left.

Kira sat beside Sofia's bed, holding her daughter's hand, staring at Damien's back.

"Why do you care?" she asked.

He didn't turn around.

"I don't."

"Then why are you doing this?"

Silence.

Then, so quietly she almost didn't hear it:

"Because I can't save you. But I can save her."

Kira didn't understand what he meant.

She wasn't sure he understood either.

How will he save her?