Chapter 9

The nurse came in with a syringe. "This will help with the pain, Ms. Ortega," she said, her voice professionally gentle. She injected the clear liquid into Hazel' s IV line.

Hazel waited for the blessed relief, for the promised numbness to steal the fire from her bones.

It never came.

Instead, the pain intensified. It grew from a deep, grinding ache into a raging, all-consuming inferno. It was a thousand times worse than the extraction itself. A raw, chemical fire was spreading through her veins.

Her body began to convulse, arching off the bed in violent, uncontrollable spasms. A strangled cry tore from her throat. Something was terribly wrong.

The nurse' s face went white with panic. She checked the empty syringe, then the vial it came from. "This isn' t morphine!" she shrieked. "Someone switched the vials!"

The architect of this new hell was, of course, Julia. Lying in her own hospital bed, she had found a way to inflict one last, exquisite torture. She hadn' t just wanted Hazel' s bone marrow; she wanted her to suffer for it.

Meanwhile, Dominic was walking towards Julia' s room. His mind was a battlefield. He had what he wanted. The marrow that would save Julia' s life was on its way to the lab. He should have felt relieved, righteous even.

Instead, all he could see was the look in Hazel' s eyes. The pure, unadulterated hatred. The way she had flinched from his touch. It was a look of finality, of a door slamming shut forever.

He stopped in the hallway. He couldn' t go to Julia. Not yet. A sudden, irrational panic seized him. He had to go back. He had to see Hazel. He had to make sure the painkiller was working. He had to see if maybe, just maybe, there was a flicker of something other than hate in her eyes.

A doctor intercepted him. "Mr. Watts, we need you. Ms. Norman' s condition is destabilizing."

"Later," Dominic snapped, pushing past him.

"But sir, it' s urgent!"

"Hazel is more urgent," he found himself saying, the words surprising even himself. He told himself it was just guilt, a need to ensure the person he' d just brutalized was comfortable. It was the least he could do. He expected to find her sleeping peacefully, the pain finally gone.

He threw open her door and froze.

The scene was one of pure horror. Hazel was thrashing on the bed, her body contorted in a seizure, a low, keening sound of agony escaping her lips. Her face was pale and slick with sweat.

"What the hell is happening?" he roared, rushing to her side.

The terrified nurse was trying to hold her still. "The medicine! It was switched! It wasn' t a painkiller!"

The truth crashed down on Dominic. Not only had he subjected her to unimaginable pain, but his order for relief had somehow led to her being poisoned. His attempt at a small kindness had become another layer of torture.

"Hazel!" he cried, grabbing her hand. It was burning hot. She latched onto him, her grip surprisingly strong, her eyes wide with a silent, desperate plea.

He turned on the medical staff, his voice a furious bellow. "Find out who did this! I want them found now!"

He cradled Hazel' s head, trying to soothe her, whispering meaningless apologies.

And then, the nurse who was checking her vitals let out a horrified gasp.

"Mr. Watts... she' s... she' s not breathing."

Dominic' s first, arrogant thought was that it was impossible. No pain could be worse than the guilt that was consuming him. She was just being dramatic. But then he looked down at her face.

Her eyes were closed. Her chest was still. The desperate grip on his hand had gone slack.