CHAPTER FOUR

The moment Madison's voice faded and the call cut off, a sick sense of dread settled in my chest. My pulse pounded in my ears. I stared blankly at the screen, my eyes fixed on the blank display as if willing it to come back to life.

My mind racing, I hoped against hope that the phone would ring again, that Madison's voice would come back on the line and tell me this was just another one of her cruel games. I was all too familiar with her vile pranks, the way she took pleasure in toying with my emotions and watching me tremble in fear.

But as the silence stretched, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. This didn't feel like one of Madison's usual pranks. The fear in her voice had been real. And now, she was gone.

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I quickly pulled up my phone's tracking app. Madison had never been careful with her online presence —one thing she had never imagined was someone like me needing to find her.

A few seconds later, the location popped up.

California Dream Hotel.

Only a few minutes away.

I didn't waste another second. I grabbed my bag, muttering a rushed goodbye to Rita as I bolted out of the bookshop. The streets were bustling, but I moved through the crowd as if I they were blind to me.

Madison had sounded terrified. And, that call she placed. It was rare for her to pick up her phone and think to call me.

Actually, despite everything—despite the years of cruelty, the lies, the betrayal—I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. She was my sister. Maybe she had spent most of her life pretending I didn't exist, but I couldn't ignore her when she needed me. Maybe she had left mom to die of bone marrow cancer despite being a perfect donor and still refusing to donate. Maybe she had refused to help settle mom's hospital bill despite being married to one of the richest businessmen in the world. She was still my sister.

I hailed a cab, my hands shaking as I climbed inside.

"California Dream Hotel," I told the driver, my voice tight.

The ride was short, but every second stretched made me uncomfortable, thoughts racing through my head.

Madison. The sister who had tormented me all my life.

She had made high school hell for me, leading the pack of girls who mocked my weight, my clothes, my existence. She had laughed when they locked me in the janitor's closet for hours, had spread rumors that made me my bullying even get worse.

And when she married Julien—the one person I had ever truly loved—she had made sure I felt that loss in the most brutal way possible.

She hadn't invited me to the wedding. Hadn't even acknowledged my existence in her perfect little world.

Every interview, she would always say she was an only child to a late parent. And, one time the paparazzi had caught her with me, she had introduced me to them as a fan who needed financial assistant. 

But none of that mattered now.

I just needed to get to her.

The moment the cab pulled up to the California Dream Hotel, I threw a few bills at the driver and rushed out.

The hotel was the kind that screamed luxury—crystal chandeliers brightened in the grand lobby, gold accents on every space, rich velvet framing tall windows. But I didn't have time to take any of it in.

I stormed up to the front desk, my breath small.

"I need to know which room Madison Laurent is in."

The receptionist, a young woman with red lips and a polished smile, froze for the briefest second. It was so subtle that I almost missed it, but there it was—a flash of anxiety.

She quickly masked her shock, her professional charisma slipping back into place. Her expression smoothed, and her voice took on a polite but firm tone. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we can't give out guest information. It's our hotel's policy to protect our guests' privacy."

I felt a sense of frustration and slammed my hands onto the desk, making her jump. "I just spoke to her," I emphasized, my voice rising. "She's in danger. Please, you have to help me."

The receptionist's eyes widened slightly, and she glanced around the lobby nervously, as if hoping to find support or an escape route. But her expression remained hard. "I apologize, ma'am, but without the guest's explicit consent, we cannot disclose any information."

My anger and desperation began to increase, and I leaned in, my face inches from hers. "Listen to me," I urged, my voice low and urgent. "If you don't help me, something terrible might happen to her. Please, you have to believe me."

The receptionist's throat bobbed. She knows something.

A moment passed before she exhaled shakily, then, in a quiet voice, she said, "Room 210. Second floor."

I didn't thank her. I was already running.

The elevator felt too slow, so I took the stairs two at a time. The hallway on the floor of the room was strangely silent as I reached the second floor, my stomach churning as I searched for her room.

207… 208… 209…

210.

The door was left open.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I hesitated for half a second before pushing the door open.

And then—

I froze.

My mouth went dry, my body going hard rock as my eyes landed on her.

Madison lay sprawled on the floor, her blonde hair fanned out around her, her red silk dress which she had on in the video I watched earlier, spreading like blood beneath her.

Only—

There was real blood.

It stained across the marble floor, thick and dark, spilling from her nose and mouth.

I let out a sharp gasp, dropping to my knees beside her.

"Madison," I breathed, shaking her shoulders.

Her skin was ice-cold.

"Madison! Wake up!" My voice cracked with panic as I patted her cheek, but she didn't respond. Her face was so pale, her chest barely rising.

My heart pounded against my ribs.

Who did this? She was celebrating her anniversary just few hours ago, how did this happen?

I reached for my phone, my fingers fumbling to dial for help—

A sound.

A creak behind me.

I spun around, my breath hitching.

The door was still open. The hallway beyond was empty.

But someone had been here.

And I wasn't alone.