Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
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The hospital hallway hums with a quiet tension, the kind that presses against your chest and refuses to let go. I'm pacing, my heels echoing against the linoleum as Chris leans against the wall, his arms crossed, staring blankly ahead. He looks calm, but I can see it in the tightness of his jaw—he's just as wrecked as I am. Scarlett's limp body in his arms at James's funeral is an image I can't get out of my head.
Kayla, ever the professional, had jumped into action, her calm and clinical demeanor a stark contrast to the panic that had gripped the rest of us. Now, as we hover outside Scarlett's hospital room, waiting for answers, I feel like I'm on the verge of crawling out of my skin.
Not only am I stuck in this awkward group with Chris and his entire family, but Rebecca is here too, shooting daggers at me with every glare she can muster. I can't quite piece together why everyone has gathered here—it seems chaotic and unnecessary—but I suspect the main reason is Kayla. For reasons beyond my comprehension, she's decided to adopt a sudden interest in Scarlett's wellbeing after meeting her just once.
As for me, the only reason I'm in this group is Scarlett. I wanted to be here for her, to give her someone familiar to lean on. Someone who truly knows her. Family.
But I didn't see this coming. When I asked Chris to meet me at James's penthouse so Ron would let me in, I didn't imagine he'd bring his entire entourage along for the ride. Sure, I expected them to make an appearance at the funeral—that much was inevitable. But tagging along for everything involving Scarlett? That feels like a complication I wasn't prepared to handle.
"She's been starving herself," I mutter, my voice sharp with frustration. "I should've forced her to eat. I should've—"
"Don't start with the 'what-ifs,' Elizabeth," Chris cuts in, his tone firmer than usual. "You couldn't have known this would happen."
I whip around to glare at him. "Don't patronize me, Chris. I did know. I saw her wasting away on that damn couch and didn't do enough."
"Please," Rebecca interjects, her arms crossed as she leans against the opposite wall, looking as if she's merely tolerating our presence. "Let's not act like she's some helpless child. She's an adult. Choices have consequences."
Chris's head snaps toward her, his glare icy. "Rebecca, if you don't have anything helpful to say, maybe keep it to yourself."
Rebecca's lips curl into a mocking smile. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Savior Complex. I forgot you're the resident knight in shining armor."
"Enough!" Kayla's voice cuts through like a scalpel. All eyes turn to her as she steps forward, her expression calm but unyielding. "Chris, don't glare at your fiancée like that, and Rebecca, now's not the time for your commentary. We're all concerned about Scarlett, so let's focus on her, not whatever unresolved drama you two have."
Jack clears his throat, his deep voice steady as he steps between Chris and Rebecca, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Kayla's right. Let's cool it. We're all here for the same reason—to make sure Scarlett's okay."
