This Is It
Gavin’s expression softened, but only just. "This is a business arrangement, Harper. Don’t mistake it for anything else."
I nodded numbly, my mind still reeling. It was all happening so fast, too fast. I hadn’t had time to process what any of this really meant, what it would do to me.
"You need to sign," Gavin said, pulling me out of my thoughts. He took a pen from his pocket and placed it on top of the envelope. "Once you sign, everything is set in motion.”
My hand trembled as I reached for the pen, my fingers brushing against the cool metal. For a moment, I hesitated, my mind racing with doubt and fear. But then I thought about the alternative—dying alone in a hospital bed, my life cut short before I’d even had a chance to live it.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I forced myself to pick up the pen and opened the envelope, pulling out the contract. The legal jargon blurred before my eyes as I quickly skimmed through it, but the words that mattered were clear as day.
Two years.
An heir.
Freedom.
I signed on the dotted line, my heart pounding in my chest. As I set the pen down, I looked up to see Gavin watching me, his expression unreadable. His handsome face set in a hard glare.
"It’s done," I whispered.
Gavin nodded, his face giving nothing away. "Yes. It’s done."
And just like that, my fate was sealed.
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, my fingers tracing the edges of the paper gown they’d given me to wear. My mother sat in the chair next to me, her face lined with worry that matched mine.
Dr. Reynolds walked in, holding a folder that I assumed contained my latest test results. His expression was calm, professional.
"Harper," he began, taking a seat across from us, "we’ve completed the tests, and I have the results here."
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "What did they show?"
Dr. Reynolds opened the folder, glancing at the papers before looking back at me. "Apart from the heart diseases, you have pulmonary hypertension. It’s a condition where the blood pressure in the arteries of your lungs is higher than normal."
My mother gasped softly, reaching out to take my hand. I squeezed back, needing the support.
"How serious is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"It’s a serious condition," Dr. Reynolds admitted, "but the good news is that it’s manageable, especially now that you have the resources for the proper treatment."
I swallowed hard, trying to process what he was saying. "What does that mean? What do I need to do?"
Dr. Reynolds leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle. "You’ll need to make some lifestyle changes, Harper. This condition means that your heart and lungs are working harder than they should. So, you’ll need to slow down, avoid strenuous activities, and take care not to overexert yourself."
"Slow down," I repeated, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "I’ve never been good at that."
"I understand," he said with a small smile. "But it’s important. We’ll also start you on a specific treatment plan—medications that will help reduce the pressure in your lungs and improve your breathing. With this treatment, you have a good chance of continuing to live a relatively normal life."
My chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t from fear or anxiety. "So... I’m going to be okay?"
Dr. Reynold’s smile widened slightly. "Yes, Harper. With proper care and following the treatment plan, you have a good chance of managing this condition. It won’t go away, but you can live with it."
I nodded, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. "Thank you, Dr. Reynolds. You don’t know what this means to me."
He gave a small nod. "I’m just doing my job. Just don't stress yourself.”
"I won’t," I promised, squeezing my mother’s hand again. "I’ll do whatever it takes."
"Good," Dr. Reynolds said, standing up. "We’ll start your treatment today, and I’ll have the nurse come in to explain everything in detail."
As he turned to leave, my mother’s voice stopped him. "Doctor, what about her long-term prognosis?"
Dr. Reynolds turned back to us, his expression thoughtful. "It’s hard to say for certain, but with the right treatment and lifestyle adjustments, there’s no reason Harper can’t live a long, full life."
My mother nodded, tears filling her eyes. "Thank you."
"Mom," I said softly, turning to her. "I’m going to be okay."
She smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I knew you would be, Harper.”
I reached out to hug her, resting my head on her shoulder. "Thank you for being here with me."
"Always," she whispered, stroking my hair gently. "I’m not going anywhere.”
I closed my eyes tightly. The contract with Gavin had saved my life in more ways than one. The money had been transferred instantly, just like he’d promised. I had the resources I needed, and I was going to use them to fight for my life.
"I’m happy, Mom," I murmured against her shoulder. "I’m really happy."
And for the first time in a long time, I meant it.
****
Gavin's home was massive—more like a mansion, really—and as I stepped inside, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by its sheer size. Marble floors, high ceilings, and elaborate chandeliers greeted me at every turn. This was Gavin’s world, far removed from the cramped apartment I shared with my mom, and now it was my world too.
For a short time.
Gavin led me down a long corridor, his strides purposeful and unhurried, as though he were taking a leisurely stroll through a park rather than escorting me through what felt like a labyrinth. “Your things have been brought in,” he said, his tone impassive. “You’ll have everything you need.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. The air between us was awkward, he was cold and I felt off.
After a few more twists and turns, we finally reached my room. Gavin opened the door and motioned for me to enter. “This will be your space,” he said. “You’re free to do as you please here.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, stepping inside. The room was beautiful, decorated in soft, neutral tones with furniture and large windows that offered a stunning view of the gardens below. But despite its beauty, it felt empty, much like the rest of the house.
Gavin lingered for a moment, his eyes sweeping over me as if assessing my reaction. Then, without another word, he turned and left, leaving me alone.
A rumble in my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I made my way down to the kitchen, hoping to find something to stave off the hunger.
When I arrived, however, I was greeted by a tall, elegant woman with dark curly hair and blue eyes. She was rummaging through the pantry, her movements quick and precise.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound poli
te. “I was hoping to find something to eat. Could you—”
“Who are you?” she cut me off, her tone sharp.
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