Chapter 3

Chapter 3 The Price 

Emily's fingers curled into her dress, her voice barely holding back the tremor of betrayal. "You decided my fate without asking me, Damian?" Her heart pounded. "I just needed a day or two—I would've raised the money."

Damian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. "The hospital called again. Mrs. Stone made it clear—this was the last time. So, I signed it, Emily. I signed the contract." His voice dropped, softer now, but firm. "You're getting married to Adrian."

The words struck like a slap.

Her throat tightened. "I thought you promised to give me time."

"Time?" Damian scoffed. "You spent all day searching. What did you find? Would you rather allow Dad to be thrown out of the hospital?" He leaned forward, his eyes dark with frustration. "Emily, I've gone over this from every angle. We don't have a choice. The only reason Dad is still there is because of the little money I've managed to scrape together. And it won't last." His voice wavered. "I don't understand what your problem is. Are you being selfish, or do you actually have another way out? Because if you have the money, tell me now, and I'll cancel everything—no matter what happens to us."

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

Damian's fists clenched. "The people we owe are threatening to take this house. What do we do, Emily?" He hesitated, then added, "Or… did you get the money?"

Her stomach churned. She looked away.

"Emily?"

A shaky breath left her lips. "I was offered $2,500."

Damian stilled. "By who?"

She swallowed hard. "A buyer at the gallery."

His gaze bore into her. "And?"

Emily shut her eyes for a brief second, as if willing the memory away. "But it wasn't for my art."

(Silence). 

A heavy, suffocating silence.

"The strict warning from Dad made me resist without a second thought," she whispered.

She could still hear her father's voice in her mind: Emily, you are an asset. Never trade your body for anything, not even for me. Every part of you is a rare gem, meant to be discovered, not bargained for.

Damian's nostrils flared, his fists tightening like he was ready to punch through a wall. "That bastard."

"I couldn't do it," she said, her voice cracking. "I couldn't."

In an instant, Damian was beside her, his arms pulling her into a fierce hug. His warmth, his unspoken promise of protection, seeped into her, but it did nothing to stop the weight pressing against her chest.

"But, Damian, this is too much," she murmured.

"I know," he admitted. "But you'll be fine. I know it."

She pulled back, wiping her face. "At least let me see Dad."

On arrival to Zuckerberg San Fransisco general hospital 

The antiseptic scent hit Emily the moment they stepped inside. The quiet hum of machines, the hushed whispers of nurses all felt painfully familiar.

But nothing could prepare her for the sight of her father.

He sat on the bed, his hands resting limply on his lap, eyes staring blankly at the white wall. The man who once wove words into stories, who guided her hand in her first painting, now looked lost.

Emily took a trembling step forward.

"Dad…" She reached for his hand—warm and calloused, the same hands that once built worlds with words. "It's me. Emily. Your princess. Your special girl."

His gaze flickered to hers. For a brief moment, something surfaced in his eyes. Hope sparked in her chest.

Then, he yanked his hand away.

"Who are you?" His voice was sharp, accusing. "Why are you lying to me? Nurse! I don't want these imposters here!"

Emily staggered back as if struck.

"Dad, it's me too." Damian's voice cracked. "It's Damian. Your son."

But Mr. Jackson's face twisted in confusion and anger. "Get out. Take this poison away from me."

Damian's fingers curled into fists, his pain flashing across his face.

Emily forced herself to breathe. "Where's the doctor's office?"

The doctor's expression was gentle but unwavering. "I'm sorry," he said. "Your father's memory loss is severe. He doesn't recognize you, not because he doesn't love you, but because his mind has erased parts of his past. This is retrograde amnesia."

Damian's voice was tight. "So what? We're strangers to him forever?"

"Not necessarily," the doctor replied. "Memory is unpredictable. Some memories return, some never do. The key is patience. Don't force him to remember, help him feel safe instead. Bring familiar things. Old photos, letters, even scents. Sometimes, a single trigger can unlock a door in the mind."

Emily swallowed hard. "And if nothing works?"

The doctor met her gaze. "Then you create new memories. He may not remember the past, but he can still love you in the present."

Tears burned at the edges of Emily's vision.

A painful silence stretched between them before they answered in unison. "Thank you, Doctor."

Outside of the Hospital ,A Presence Lurking

As they stepped out of Zuckerberg San Fransisco general hospital 

the air felt heavier.

Emily's skin prickled.

She glanced around. A nurse on break. A few parked cars. And then—

A man in a dark coat stood beneath a flickering lamp post, motionless.

His face was obscured by shadows, but he was watching them.

Emily's pulse quickened.

Probably nothing. Just her nerves.

The house felt colder than before. Emily moved to shut the windows, a creeping unease settling in her bones.

Damian stretched out on the couch, exhaustion written all over him. As they both rested home "Emily, don't worry. Dad will be fine. We just need to keep him in treatment."

His words struck like a wrecking ball.

Tears didn't fall—they crashed, a relentless tide drowning the silence.

Damian sighed. "Emily, please. We need to be strong for each other. Don't make this harder than it already is."

She wiped her eyes. "Can I ask for one more request?"

He groaned. "What is it now?"

She hesitated. "I want to take my artwork one last time to the museum. This time will be different. I know it."

Damian sat up, exasperation flashing in his eyes. "Emily. Are we still on this?"

Before she could answer

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The door shuddered under the force. The sound ricocheted through the walls like a gunshot in a dead street.

A breathless pause.

Then

BOOM! BOOM!

Louder. Sharper and Desperate.

The air tightened.

Emily's could barely catch her breath 

Damian was already on his feet.

Whoever was outside wasn't just knocking.

They were here for blood.