Chapter 3 - The Donor Event Assignment

By noon the next day, my supervisor called me in like my time was free.

“Donor tour,” she said. “You’re on it. Wear your nicest uniform. Don’t embarrass us.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I had an actual life. I wanted to say my brother was dying slowly and I was running out of money and sleep.

Instead, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”

Because the hospital paid per shift. And Eli’s meds didn’t care about my pride.

Before I left the dorm, my roommate—Lena—watched me pin my name tag to my chest.

“Why are you going back there?” she asked.

“Because I like suffering,” I said.

She didn’t laugh. “Mira. People are talking.”

“I know.”

She leaned against the bunk bed. “I saw your name on a gossip page.”

I forced my face blank. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

“Just be careful,” she said, quieter. “If they can take your scholarship, they will.”

As if I didn’t already feel that truth in my bones.

The lobby looked like a set when I arrived. Fresh flowers. Shiny floors. Velvet ropes. A banner above the entrance in gold letters.

VALEZCO FOUNDATION — HEALTH FOR ALL

It made me want to laugh. It made me want to cry. I did neither.

A PR woman in a blazer clapped her hands like she was coaching a talent show.

“Remember,” she said. “No mention of delays. No mention of shortages. We highlight hope, okay?”

Hope. Like a product.

My job was to guide, smile, and keep the ugly parts out of frame.

The donors arrived in perfume and confidence. Cameras followed them. The hospital administrator floated beside them, laughing too loud.

I recognized some faces from society pages—women with perfect hair and men who spoke like they were used to being listened to.

One donor woman glanced at my uniform and said to her friend, “How old do you think she is?” as if I wasn’t standing there.

Old enough to know how it feels to be invisible, I thought.

And then Adrian Valezco walked in.

No dramatic entrance. Just him, Jared with an iPad, and two men who moved like security but didn’t look like mall guards. The air changed anyway. People stood straighter without realizing.

Adrian’s gaze swept the lobby like he was counting exits. Not admiring. Measuring.

His eyes landed on me for half a second.

My stomach tightened.

I felt last night’s invite sitting in my phone like a loaded gun.

I hadn’t gone.

I’d stood outside the building, read the warning text again, and turned around.

Adrian hadn’t chased. He didn’t need to.

The tour started.

At pediatrics, a nurse tried to steer them away from the crowded ward. Adrian didn’t let her.

“How many in this room?” he asked.

“Eight, sir,” the nurse said too fast.

“What’s the nurse-to-patient ratio?” he asked.

The nurse hesitated. The administrator coughed, ready to lie.

“Answer,” Adrian said.

“One to… sometimes twenty, sir.”

Silence. A donor woman’s smile cracked.

Adrian turned slightly, looking at the PR woman. “Your press statement says staffing is improving.”

The PR woman laughed like it was a misunderstanding. “Yes, sir, we’re—”

“Not fast enough,” Adrian said.

No anger. No volume. Just a fact.

We moved to dialysis—Eli’s world. I stayed in the back, invisible on purpose.

A boy around Eli’s age sat in a wheelchair, fist pressed to his mouth to stop a cough. His mother looked up at the donors and quickly looked away.

I wondered if she also did the math in her head. I wondered if she also counted coins until her hands cramped.

When we passed the charity office, I saw the line. People holding folders the way I held ours. Faces tight with waiting.

A donor man frowned. “Why is there a line?”

The social service officer behind the glass smiled like she was on a poster.

“High demand, sir. We process as quickly as we can.”

It was the same smile she gave me when she stamped PENDING.

Adrian’s gaze sharpened.

“Show me the approval logs,” he said.

The officer blinked. “Sir, the logs are internal.”

Adrian didn’t blink back. “So is the funding.”

The administrator tried to slide in. “Sir Adrian, perhaps we can discuss this privately—”

“Now,” Adrian said.

The officer’s smile cracked.

I felt a weird kind of hope, sharp and dangerous. Not because I trusted him. Because he was willing to push where others pretended nothing was wrong.

Then Adrian turned his head slightly and looked straight at me from across the crowd.

Not warm. Not soft.

Like he remembered my folder. My brother’s name.

Like he could help.

Like he still had a price.

Jared appeared at my side, quiet as a shadow.

“Miss De Vera,” he murmured, “Sir Adrian noticed you didn’t attend last night.”

My stomach dropped.

“I couldn’t,” I said.

Jared didn’t react. “He doesn’t like being ignored.”

I stared at him. “Tell him I was busy keeping my brother alive.”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost not.

“After the tour,” he said, glancing at his iPad. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Why?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

Jared’s eyes flicked to the charity line, then back to me.

“Because you’re standing in the only line in this hospital that he can’t control yet.”

My phone buzzed—unknown number.

If you get close to Valezco, you’ll lose your scholarship.