Drawing Blood

Sloane pushed open the heavy oak door to her bedroom and collapsed onto the center of her mattress. Downstairs, the Kensington household fractured into a state of chaotic frenzy. The muffled shouts of her brothers echoing from the marble foyer blended with the frantic apologies of the butler as he shooed the whispering party guests out the grand double doors. She lay in the dim, heavy silence of her room, tuning out the ridiculous noise. The new school semester started in just two days. She needed to draft an email to her academic counselors tomorrow morning to switch her schedule back to regular academic classes.

She refused to walk the same doomed path. In her past life, she served as a silent ghostwriter to build Blair's towering fame in the competitive art world. Blair lacked the grades, the discipline, and the raw talent required for Verdant Art School. Sloane had won a prestigious national art contest, securing a full-ride scholarship with her own two hands. Instead of celebrating her success, the Kensingtons cornered her. They forced her to surrender her portfolio and her credit, threatening to ruin her future and cut off her tuition if she refused to comply. By some twisted stroke of fate, their scheme worked flawlessly. Blair became the famous painter, hailed as a generational prodigy. Through four long years of college, every breathtaking masterpiece Sloane bled onto the canvas bore Blair's forged signature. When she finally tried to fight back and claim her own work, the family weaponized their immense wealth. They severed her funds, locked her out of the industry, and left her destitute.

This time, her path stretched out clear and simple. She would stockpile her own independent wealth. She would sever the suffocating financial leash they kept around her neck. Let Blair try to play the genius artist without someone operating behind the curtain to do the heavy lifting.

A sharp stab in her gut ripped through her thoughts. Sloane curled her body into a tight ball. Cold sweat beaded on her pale forehead and dripped onto the silk bedsheets. The Kensingtons forced her onto a strict, abusive diet to keep her looking like the fragile, dependent shadow they wanted to project to high society. She spent the entire day trailing Blair around the sprawling estate, forced to play the role of a protective bodyguard, all on an empty stomach. The hunger had evolved from a dull ache into a gnawing, acidic fire that clawed mercilessly at her insides.

She dragged her trembling body toward the edge of the bed, desperate to reach the painkillers sitting inside the bathroom cabinet.

A heavy fist slammed against her bedroom door. The polished wood rattled in its frame.

A maid barked from the hallway, her tone dripping with unearned arrogance. "Mr. Kensington demands your presence at the hospital immediately! You need to get down there and grovel to Miss Blair!"

Sloane clutched her burning abdomen. She shuffled to the wardrobe and threw a heavy jacket over her shoulders. She slid into the leather back seat of the family car a few moments later. Her face held the sickly color of ash. She leaned her heavy head against the cold window glass, watching the blurry city streetlights flash by. She braced her fragile body for whatever twisted game Blair planned to orchestrate next.

The sterile scent of bleach and rubbing alcohol hit Sloane the second she pushed open the heavy door to the VIP hospital room.

A heavy hand swung through the air and cracked against her cheek.

The sheer force snapped her head to the side. The metallic tang of fresh blood flooded her mouth, pooling under her tongue. She pressed her thumb against her stinging skin, slowly turning her gaze forward to meet her attacker.

Richard glared at her. He looked at her like a despised enemy rather than his own flesh and blood. The sleeves of his tailored suit were rolled up, his chest heaving with unrestrained rage.

Richard spat the words out. "You little brat! Can't stand your sister doing okay, huh?"

Sloane stood her ground. She swallowed the blood in her mouth and took in the room. Declan stood right behind their father, his face twisted in unmasked, visceral disdain. Blair lay in the center of the pristine hospital bed, leaning weakly against Jaxon’s chest. She clutched the white sheets, offering Sloane a look of feigned, profound heartbreak.

Richard delivered the decree with a voice like shattering ice. "Your inheritance is gone, Sloane. I am transferring every last cent of your trust fund to Blair effective immediately. Consider it your punishment for this stunt."

Sloane let out a dark, raspy chuckle. The absurdity of the situation stripped away any lingering respect she held for the man.

Her lack of repentance ignited Richard's temper. He raised his hand, aiming a second brutal strike at her face.

Sloane shot her arm up. She intercepted his thick wrist mid-swing, her grip locking around his bones like a vice. The sheer effort sent a fresh wave of agony radiating through her starved stomach, but she refused to be the weeping doormat she was in her past life.

She dropped his wrist and stood incredibly tall. "Did Declan or Jaxon actually see me shove Blair? No! You refuse to even check the security cameras!"

The room fell dead silent. They expected tears. They expected her to drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness. The sight of her fighting back left them momentarily stunned.

Declan stepped forward, his face flushed a deep, angry red.

Declan shouted, his protective rage blinding him to any logic. "You failed to watch out for Blair, and that is on you! Then you bring out those expensive gifts just to mess with her head! Are you trying to give her another heart attack?"

Richard straightened the lapels of his suit jacket.

Richard demanded an answer. "Apologize to your sister right now."

Blair grabbed the fabric of Jaxon's shirt. She pulled herself up by a few inches to play the role of the fragile, forgiving angel.

Blair whispered softly. "No, Dad, I am fine. It is not Sloane's fault. Just a simple sorry is enough."

Sloane smirked at the practiced innocence radiating from the bed.

Sloane snapped, her voice cutting through the sterile air like a blade. "Shut up! Am I your maid? Am I your babysitter? You are a grown woman. If those cameras prove my guilt, I will do more than kneel. I will offer you my life."

Raw panic flashed deep in Blair's eyes. The unedited footage from the top of the grand staircase would reveal the undeniable truth. It would show her intentionally throwing herself down the marble steps the exact second she heard Declan walking up the hallway. She clutched her chest, her breathing hitching in genuine fear as her carefully constructed lie teetered on the edge of ruin.

Blair rushed the words out, her voice spiking to an unnaturally high pitch. "There is no need for that! Dad and the boys have done enough for me. Checking the cameras is too much hassle. I just tripped! It was a clumsy trip!"

Declan melted at her saintly display of forgiveness.

Declan said the words softly. "Your matters are never a hassle to us, Blair."

Richard ignored the pathetic exchange. He kept his cold, judgmental eyes locked onto Sloane, his frown deepening into harsh crevices along his forehead.

Richard muttered under his breath. "I never thought you would turn out like this. You are a deep disappointment to this family, Sloane."

Sloane was sick of the baseless judgment. She opened her mouth to fire back another retort, but a blinding, crippling wave of pain ripped through her abdomen. The acidic fire inside her stomach morphed into a shredding, unbearable agony. Her vision dissolved into a chaotic static blur. The bright fluorescent hospital lights faded to pitch black. Her frail body crumpled. She hit the hard linoleum floor with a hollow thud.

Jaxon watched her fall. His heart lurched inside his chest. He remembered the fierce, unyielding look in her eyes just moments before when she shoved those expensive gifts back into their hands. He remembered her grabbing their father's wrist, defying the physical dominance of the patriarch.

He dropped Blair without a second thought.

Jaxon rushed across the hospital room and scooped Sloane's unconscious body off the cold floor. Panic seized his chest, tightening his throat as he looked down at her deathly pale face and limp limbs. He turned his head and locked eyes with his father.

Jaxon demanded action from the patriarch. "Dad, we need to check those cameras immediately."