I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands trembling as I held the burner phone.

“Ethan,” I whispered.

I reached out and took his hand in mine.

It felt cool, but his skin was firm, his pulse slow and steady against my palm.

“Benson is gone,” I said, my voice barely louder than the hum of the medical equipment. “They won’t drug you anymore.”

I sat there for what felt like hours, watching the rain stream down the glass.

The storm seemed to be moving directly over the Hudson, the thunder shaking the old foundations of the house.

I looked at the IV drip bag hanging beside the bed.

I didn’t know enough about medicine to disconnect it myself without hurting him, but I knew I couldn’t let anyone else touch it.

I needed to call a doctor I could trust.

But there was no one.

My father had sold me to this family to pay off his mounting debts, and he wouldn’t risk losing his payout.

Vivian, the matriarch, only cared about the family name and keeping the estate intact.