Whatever It Takes

Donovan POV

My mother’s heels clicked against the marble hallway, fading into the distance. The moment the heavy mahogany door shut behind her, the stoic mask I wore for her benefit shattered. I snatched my phone from the glass desk, my fingers rigid as I dialed my assistant. Felix picked up on the first ring.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

"Felix, get the jet prepped for Chicago. I need to be in the air within the hour. Call the pilot now. Then drop whatever you are doing and compile a list of the best oncologists on the planet. I want specialists in gastric cancer. Stage three experts. Get their names, clinic locations, and direct contact numbers on my screen before I land."

A beat of silence stretched over the line.

"Is everything okay, sir?"

"Just get it done. Keep this quiet. I do not want the board or the press catching wind of this yet."

"Understood. I will send the encrypted file to your tablet in thirty minutes."

I ended the call and tossed the phone onto my desk. The screen lit up with stock portfolios and acquisition reports I had been analyzing before Sienna rang. I shoved the glowing monitors away. None of it mattered. The billion-dollar mergers, the aggressive corporate takeovers, the endless pursuit of market dominance felt like ash in my mouth. I built an empire from the ground up, manipulating global markets and crushing competitors without a second thought. I possessed enough capital to buy entire islands. But staring at those numbers on the screen, I realized the bitter truth. Wealth was an illusion of control. It could not stop mutating cells.

Stage three. The medical term echoed in the quiet office like a judge reading a death sentence. I lacked a medical degree, but I knew the brutal reality of late-stage cancer. It meant the disease had spread. It meant her body was turning into a battlefield. It meant the three-month prognosis the Chicago doctor handed her was a ticking clock.

I refused to accept that timeline. The Sinclair family did not roll over and accept defeat. We protected our own. If money could buy Sienna an extra year, an extra month, or even just an extra week, I would liquidate my entire portfolio. I would drain every offshore account and sell every asset. If an experimental treatment existed in some hidden corner of the world boasting an eighty percent survival rate, I would charter a flight and bring the doctor to her.

I picked up my phone again and scrolled to Dr. Valerie Kensington. She served as one of the elite oncologists at Seattle Grace Hospital. More importantly, she was a trusted family friend. Valerie had known Sienna since we were kids. She treated my sister's severe pneumonia when Sienna was fifteen. If anyone possessed the tenacity to dig trenches and fight this war alongside us, it was Valerie.

"Donovan Sinclair. To what do I owe this rare pleasure?"

"Valerie, I need a massive favor. It concerns Sienna."

The warm, teasing lilt vanished from her voice. The leather of her desk chair creaked as she sat forward.

"You found her? Is she hurt?"

"She is alive, but she is sick. Gastric cancer. Stage three. Some local doctor in Chicago just gave her three months to live."

A sharp intake of breath hissed through the speaker.

"Oh, Donovan. I am so sorry. Where is she right now?"

"She is in Chicago. I am flying out tonight to bring her home. I need you to clear your schedule for the foreseeable future. I do not care about the cost. I do not care whose toes you have to step on or what favors you need to call in. I need the most aggressive, cutting-edge treatment plan formulated by the time we touch down in Seattle."

"Send her medical records to my secure email the second you have them. I will pull in my colleagues at MD Anderson and the Mayo Clinic. We will evaluate every single option on the table. Surgery, targeted chemotherapy, immunotherapy, unlisted clinical trials. We will look at everything."

"Thank you, Valerie."

"Donovan. You need to brace yourself. Stage three gastric cancer is a vicious beast. Even with unlimited resources and the best medical minds..."

"Do not finish that sentence. Do not tell me she is going to die. I just got my sister back. I am not putting her in the ground."

Silence hung heavy on the line.

"I will move mountains for her. You have my word."

I hung up, my jaw set so hard my teeth ached. I marched to the office closet and yanked out the leather duffel bag I kept stocked for emergency travel. I bypassed the elevators, taking the stairs down to the executive parking garage. The hollow echo of my footsteps matched the frantic beating of my heart. I threw the bag onto the passenger seat of my Aston Martin.

The Seattle rain battered the windshield as I sped down the interstate. Every red light felt like a personal insult. Every slow-moving vehicle felt like an obstacle designed to keep me away from her. Panic would not save Sienna. Cold, calculated action would. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, forcing the frantic thoughts into a locked box in my mind.

I pulled onto the tarmac at Boeing Field just as the ground crew finished fueling the private jet. The flight crew stood at attention near the Gulfstream stairs. They offered crisp nods, their faces devoid of the usual pleasantries. My pilot had clearly sensed the urgency. I climbed aboard and sank into the plush leather seat near the window. I pulled out my phone as the engines began their high-pitched whine.

Felix had already delivered the encrypted file of oncologists. Below his message sat a missed call and a text from my father.

*Your mother told me the news. I am meeting you at the airstrip. Do not leave without me.*

I pressed the call button on his contact.

"Dad, I am already on the plane. You are staying in Seattle."

"Donovan, turn that jet around right now. I am coming with you to get my daughter."

"Dad, listen to me. I need to do this alone. She called me. She asked for my help. If both of us storm into her hotel room, she is going to panic. You know exactly how she reacts when she feels cornered by the family. I refuse to give her a reason to disappear again."

A harsh exhale crackled over the line. Richard Sinclair commanded boardrooms and shattered rival companies with a single word. He despised being denied. But the past five years had aged him. The bitter reality of driving his only daughter into exile had broken his iron will.

"Fine. You go. But I want updates every single hour. Do you hear me? From the moment you land until she is safe in her childhood bed. If she needs a specialist flown in from Europe, you call me. If she needs a hospital bought out, you call me."

"I will handle it, Dad."

"And Donovan? Tell her..."

The imposing patriarch of the Sinclair empire broke off. A raw, ragged sound clawed its way through the phone.

"Tell her we love her. Tell her I am so sorry. Tell her I should have never forced her into that damn marriage."

"I will pass it on. I promise."

The flight felt like crawling through wet cement. I spent the hours poring over medical journals, cross-referencing Felix's list with Valerie's credentials. I read about survival rates, tumor resections, and aggressive radiation therapies until the words blurred into meaningless shapes on my tablet.

The pilot's voice echoed through the cabin, announcing our initial descent into Chicago. I stared out the window as the sprawling, glittering grid of the city emerged from the night sky. I grabbed my phone and dialed Sienna's number.

"Don?"

"Hey. We are touching down in about twenty minutes. You told me you were at the Hilton on South Michigan Avenue?"

"Yes. Room 1847. I left the house. I could not stay there anymore. It just felt too heavy. Too many ghosts."

"You did the right thing. I will be at your door soon. Have you eaten anything today?"

"I am not hungry."

"Sienna, you are sick. Your body needs fuel to fight this. Call room service right now and order something light. Soup or bread. I will put it on my card when I arrive."

"Okay."

Her voice sounded painfully small. It lacked the fiery spark that used to define her.

"Don? Thank you. Thank you for dropping everything to come get me. And thank you for not hating me."

My throat tightened, a thick knot forming behind my Adam's apple.

"I could never hate you. Never. You are my little sister. I have missed you every single day since you walked out that door. I am bringing you back to Seattle, and we are going to wage war on this disease. Together."

"What if there is nothing left to fight? What if the doctor is right and it is just too late?"

"Then we make every single second count. We will fill whatever time you have left with the things you love. But I am not raising a white flag, Sienna. I need you to promise me you will not surrender."

The line went silent save for her faint, ragged breathing.

"I promise."

"Good. Lock your door. Do not go anywhere until I knock."

"I will not. I am done running, Don. I am just too tired to run anymore."

I ended the call and rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The towering skyscrapers pierced the low-hanging clouds, creating a sprawling concrete labyrinth lit up against the night. Somewhere down there, trapped in that freezing city, my sister sat alone in a sterile hotel room. She was terrified. She was dying. She was wasting away while her pathetic excuse for a husband and his parasitic family prioritized a tennis player's minor injury over her actual life.

A cold, terrifying fury settled deep into my bones. The rage burned away the exhaustion and the fear, leaving behind a sharp, lethal focus. Tristan Thornton would pay for this. I would dismantle his life piece by piece. I would tear down his wealth, ruin his reputation, and watch him beg in the dirt for mercy. I would make him suffer for abandoning his wife when she needed him the most.

But vengeance could wait. Breaking Tristan was a luxury for tomorrow. Tonight, my only mission was Sienna.

I watched the landing gear deploy, the mechanical thud vibrating through the floorboards. Hold on, Sienna. Your big brother is here. And I swear on my life, I am never letting you slip away again.