Chapter 5

The scent hit me before the sight did.

The antiseptic, sharp and cold, smell clung to skin and clothes, burying itself in the throat like punishment. My shoes struck the linoleum in quick, uneven beats as I rushed down the hall, chasing the nurse who had called my name.

"Your grandmother is here," she murmured, stopping at the door. Her eyes softened, the kind of look that told me more than her words ever could.

I didn't wait. I pushed past her.

The room swallowed me whole. Quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that howls in your ears because of what's missing. No machines beeping. No low hum of oxygen. Only stillness.

And there she was.

My grandmother's body lay on the hospital bed, covered to the chest with sheets tucked so precisely it almost mocked me. Her hands were folded neatly, as though someone had prepared her for rest. Her face-oh God-her face was pale, lips colorless, the vibrancy I'd always known drained away.

The laugh lines I used to trace with my eyes when she smiled were frozen now. Her eyes, the ones that always gleamed with humor and warmth, were closed forever.

My knees buckled.

"No." The word ripped out of me, raw and desperate. I stumbled to her side, dropping into the chair and reaching for her hand. Cold. Too cold. I pressed it to my cheek, sobs clawing up my throat.

"Grandma," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I came. I ran. I was right there. Why didn't I get here sooner?"

Tears blurred my vision, hot drops spilling onto her lifeless skin. They slid uselessly down the ridges of her knuckles. My forehead dropped against the back of her hand, and I wept until my whole body shook.

Time passed-I didn't know how long-before a soft voice interrupted.

A nurse stood in the doorway, face gentle with pity. "Miss... should I call your family? Prepare belongings?"

The thought of my parents flooded me with a different kind of sickness. Their judgment. Their disdain. Their ability to twist even this into another weapon.

"No!" The word cracked like glass. I wiped my face with the heel of my palm, my chest heaving. "Don't tell them. Not my parents. Not anyone. I'll... I'll handle everything myself."

Her gaze lingered on me, searching, maybe understanding more than I wanted to admit. Finally, she nodded and slipped away, leaving me alone again with the woman who had been everything.

I leaned closer, clutching Grandma's hand in both of mine. My tears dripped onto her skin. "It's just you and me," I whispered fiercely. "Like always. Our secret."

The door creaked again.

This time, it wasn't a nurse.

An aged man stepped in.

"Miss Santos?" His voice was low and respectful.

I blinked, dragging a trembling breath. "Yes."

"I'm Arthur Wells, your grandmother's attorney. She left instructions for you, to be shared immediately."

My throat tightened. "Now?"

He inclined his head. "She was very clear. It was her last request."

Grief pressed against my ribs, sharp and suffocating. Still, I nodded. What else could I do? "Alright."

We moved into a small waiting room. The walls were beige, the kind of neutral that felt like it had been chosen to swallow grief. Mr. Wells placed his case on the table, opened it, and withdrew an envelope sealed with red wax. My stomach lurched at the sight-the crest stamped into it was the same one I'd seen countless times on Grandma's stationary.

My fingers trembled as I broke the seal. The flap gave way with a soft tear that echoed louder than it should have.

Inside was a letter. Several pages, written in her looping, careful handwriting.

My chest constricted.

I began to read.

My dearest Camilla,

If these words are in your hands, then my time in this world has ended. Oh, how I wish I could still be there to wipe your tears. But I know you, my darling girl. Even in your sorrow, you are already trying to be strong.

Do you remember the summer you were ten, when your sisters ran ahead and left you behind? You stumbled into my garden with scraped knees, sobbing as though your heart had broken. But before the bandages were even tied, you were asking if you could water the roses. That's who you are, Camilla. You bend, but you never break.

Life has demanded too much of you. It has placed burdens on your shoulders that no young woman should have to carry. And yet, you have carried them-with grace, with quiet courage, with more strength than you realize. I have been so proud of you, every single day.

I have left behind what little power I still had to give. In my will, you will find that I leave to you all that was once mine and your grandfather's-money, land, and property. But there is one condition, my love. You must remain married to Maverick Shelby for four more years, this year not included. Only then will all of it be truly yours.

It may feel like a chain. But I promise you, it is a shield. This was the only way I could protect you-from your parents, from his family, from anyone who might try to take what should be yours. Think of these years not as punishment, but as time. Time to grow stronger, to gather what you need for the life ahead.

Four years may seem endless now, but you will endure. You always endure. And when it ends, you will no longer be living someone else's story-you will be writing your own.

Promise me, Camilla, that you will not lose hope. Promise me you will still paint, still garden, still read. Promise me you will guard those quiet treasures the world has tried to steal from you.

I will always love you, and I will always be proud of you.

With all my heart,

Grandma.

The words blurred before I could finish, swallowed by fresh tears. My hands shook as I pressed the letter to my chest.

"She thought of me," I whispered hoarsely. My shoulders shook as another sob slipped free. "Even at the end... she...she cared for me."

Mr. Wells closed his briefcase with a soft click. "She wanted you to know she believed in you."

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. The grief in me was endless, but beneath it-beneath the sharp, suffocating ache-a flicker of warmth glowed. Hope.

Hope she had planted with her last words.

By the time I stepped out of the hospital, the night had swallowed the city whole. Streetlamps cast halos of pale yellow and the sky above was littered with stars, sharp points of light against the darkness.

I tilted my head back, staring until my vision swam. The letter was still in my hand, its paper damp with tears, creased and trembling. Yet it felt like armor.

A soft breeze stirred, cool against my damp cheeks, carrying with it the faint scent of night jasmine from somewhere unseen. For one dizzy second, it felt like her hand brushing my face.

"I'll do it, Grandma," I whispered to the stars. My voice cracked but held. "Four years. I'll endure every thing he'll throw at me, every lonely night. I'll carry your strength until I can stand on my own."

The breeze blew, curling around me like an embrace.

When I finally slid into the waiting car, the Shelby manor rose in my mind-its marble walls, its cold shadows. I didn't dread it the way I once had. Not tonight. Because tonight, I carried something it could never touch: her love.

Her belief.

Her legacy.

Still, as the car glided into the dark, I clutched the letter tighter. And for the first time, a thought whispered sharp and unbidden.

What if four years is longer than I can survive?