Chapter 1

I woke up to the sound of harsh, rattling coughing. I recognized that heart-wrenching sound anywhere—it was my mother, and from how bad it sounded, I could tell she was getting worse.

I bolted upright, and so did my sister, Chloe, who was sharing the bed with me. Without a word, we both raced to Mom's room as fast as we could.

When we arrived, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, hunched over, clutching a blood-soaked cloth in her trembling hands.

"Mum!" Chloe gasped as she rushed to her side, her voice filled with panic.

The coughing wouldn't stop. It wracked her frail body, leaving her gasping for air.

"Astrid, get the kit!" Chloe barked, her hands already supporting Mum's hunched shoulders.

I didn't hesitate. I rushed into the bathroom, yanked open the cabinet, and grabbed the medical bag. My fingers trembled as I rummaged through the contents, finally pulling out the small vial and syringe. This had practically become a morning routine in our lives.

I prepared the injection as quickly and carefully as I could, my heart in my throat, and then knelt beside her. "This will help," I murmured softly, sliding the needle into her arm.

Mom's coughing slowed and eventually stopped, but she looked worse than ever. Her face was pale, her lips stained with blood, and her skin drenched in sweat. Her hollow eyes refused to meet ours, and that hurt me deeply. She always believed she was a burden, but nothing could be further from the truth.

"Are you alright, Mom?" Chloe asked softly, sitting beside her.

Mom's lips trembled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry for waking you girls," she said, her voice breaking.

"Are you kidding, Mom? No one cares about that," I said, sitting on her other side and wrapping an arm around her. "All that matters is that you're okay."

But we all knew she wasn't okay—and wouldn't be until she had the surgery she desperately needed.

"I'm fine," she whispered, wiping away her tears.

Chloe and I exchanged a sad look. She wasn't fine. We all knew it. The doctors had been clear: her condition—a severe case of pulmonary fibrosis—was progressing rapidly. Without surgery, the chances of her surviving much longer were slim.

Chloe sighed deeply. "Try to get some sleep, Mom. Astrid and I need to get ready for work."

Mom nodded weakly, and we helped her lie back down. I kissed her forehead, and we quietly left the room.

As we walked back to our own room, Chloe sank onto the bed with a heavy sigh, while I lingered by the door, shutting it behind me. The clock read 5:00 a.m.

"She really needs that surgery," Chloe muttered, her voice filled with frustration.

The surgery would cost $1.5 million and only had a 60% chance of success. Chloe and I had been saving for as long as we could remember, but it wasn't enough. Loans weren't an option with our poor credit, and even working multiple jobs barely made a dent in the amount we needed.

"I have an idea, but you might hate it," I said hesitantly.

Chloe sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. "How can I hate any idea that could save Mom?"

I swallowed hard. "We could reach out to Dad," I said, bracing myself.

Her face turned stormy in an instant. "That man is not our father. Stop calling him that," she snapped.

"He could help us, Chloe," I said softly.

"Help us? Are you delusional?" She got up and started pulling her waitress uniform from the wardrobe.

"He has the money," I insisted.

"Yes, he does," she said sarcastically, yanking her bag and shoes from the corner.

"I know he's an asshole, but he's our last resort," I pressed. "Mom's not getting any better, and we're running out of options."

Chloe froze, then turned to face me, her voice icy. "That bastard knew Mom was sick when he left us. I was five, and you were three. It's been twenty years, Astrid. Twenty fucking years. Don't you see? He doesn't care. He's got a whole other family now. To him, Mom was just a side piece, and we're nothing."

Her words hit hard, but they were true. I remembered how we'd sit by the window as kids, waiting for Dad to come back, never understanding why he didn't. It wasn't until we were teenagers that Mom told us the truth: he'd abandoned us for another family.

"I have a better idea," Chloe said, breaking into my thoughts.

"What is it?" I asked, bracing myself.

"Your boss."

I blinked. "Mr. Caldwell?"

"Yes. He's a billionaire. If anyone can help, it's him. Even if it's just a loan."

"I can't ask him for money. That would be so unprofessional."

"Unprofessional?" Chloe scoffed. "You play chess and sing to him like he's a kid, and now you're worried about professionalism?"

"Those things are different," I said defensively. "I'm just trying to be a good caregiver."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, we're running out of time. My idea makes more sense than yours. So ask your precious Mr. Caldwell for some money."

She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room.

I sighed, slumping onto the bed. Chloe was right—we were running out of time. But asking Mr. Caldwell for money felt so wrong. Then again… he was one of the kindest people I'd ever met. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

I had to try.

I quickly showered, put on a simple summer dress, packed Mr. Caldwell's prescriptions into my bag, and headed to work.

The Caldwell estate was on the other side of town, but I made it in record time, beating the morning traffic. By 7 a.m., I was pulling up to the grand iron gates.

The security guards waved me through, and I began the long walk up the driveway. The large property was perfect as ever, but something felt off.

When I reached the main house, I found all the staff gathered outside.

"Alfred?" I called out to the butler, who stood at the center of the group, his face pale and somber.

"What's going on?"

He turned to me, his voice heavy. "Master Caldwell." He hesitated. "His dead."

My bag slipped from my hands as I covered my mouth in shock. "What!?"