Chapter 2
Ford Manor sat halfway up the hill, a classic old estate from another era.
Ivy crawled across the outer walls like countless dried arms choking the life out of the place.
There were no wedding decorations.
Hell, there wasn't even anyone there to greet me.
The Sinclair family's car dumped me at the gate and sped off like this place ate people alive.
The front door was half open, creaking in a way that made my teeth ache.
I pushed it open and walked in.
The yard was overgrown with weeds. The air carried a faint smell of mildew and... blood.
I'm a doctor. I'm more sensitive to the smell of blood than most.
"Anyone here?"
Only my own voice echoed through the empty hall.
No answer.
In the very center of the hall sat a black coffin.
The lid wasn't fully shut. A pale hand hung out from the gap, the fingers long and elegant, but covered in scars.
So this was my groom?
Not even married yet, and he was already halfway buried?
I walked over to the coffin.
I wasn't scared. Just clinically observant.
That hand dangled over the edge, and there was a deep cut at the wrist, bad enough to expose bone. Blood was still dripping steadily, pooling dark red on the floor.
But that color...
Poison.
I narrowed my eyes and reached out to grab his wrist.
His pulse was so faint it was nearly impossible to feel, like a candle about to burn out.
Three lethal toxins were tearing through his body at once. His organs were already shutting down.
The fact that he was still alive was a straight-up medical miracle.
"Who?"
A rough, hoarse voice suddenly cut through the silence.
The man in the coffin snapped his eyes open.
For one split second, it felt like a dying lone wolf had locked its jaws around my throat.
What kind of eyes were those?
Bloodshot, violent, full of raw destruction.
Even cornered, he still carried a pressure that chilled people to the bone.
This was nothing like the useless sixty-year-old man from the rumors.
This was a sleeping dragon.
He moved fast and clamped a hand around my throat with shocking force.
"Let go."
I looked at him without expression and calmly rattled off the facts. "Nightshade Toxin has reached your brain. Neurotoxin Type Three is eating through your heart and lungs. If you keep forcing yourself, you'll be dead in three minutes."
The man froze for a second.
The killing intent in his eyes didn't fade, but his grip loosened a little.
"Who sent you? The Sinclairs? Or someone from the manor?"
His voice sounded like it had been scraped over sandpaper.
"I'm the wife they bought for you."
I pointed at my rain-soaked jeans. "1.5 million dollars. The Sinclair family sold me."
A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes before turning into deep mockery.
"Heh... Wife? What, are they setting me up with a ghost wedding?"
He released me and dropped heavily back into the coffin. His chest heaved violently, and a mouthful of dark blood spilled from his lips.
"Get out."
He closed his eyes like he'd already given up. "Before I get my strength back and kill you, get the hell out."
Interesting.
I pulled out a roll of silver needles from my backpack.
"Want to die?"
I bent over, grabbed his chin, and forced his mouth open.
A black pill flicked straight into his throat.
"Too bad. Once you land in my hands, even death doesn't get to take you."
His eyes flew open. He tried to spit it out, only to realize the pill had already dissolved. A warm current instantly shielded his heart.
"What the hell did you just make me take?"
"A lifesaver."
My hand moved, and the needle dropped.
Three silver needles sank cleanly into the pressure points at the top of his head, the center of his chest, and his lower abdomen.
"Raven's Thirteen Needles?!"
His pupils contracted sharply as he stared at me. "Who the hell are you?"
Raven's Thirteen Needles had been a lost medical art for a century.
Rumor said only one person still knew it, the elusive miracle doctor, Dr. Raven.
"I'm Lily Sinclair."
I answered blandly, never stopping as I sent down another seven needles.
"Your bride, your doctor, and your future ally."
I watched the color slowly return to his face and curved my lips in a faint, playful smile.
"Mr. Ford, how about we make a deal?"
Sebastian Ford leaned against the inner wall of the coffin. He looked a mess, but the air of power around him hadn't weakened in the slightest.
He studied me like an X-ray scanner, looking me over from head to toe.
After a long moment, he let out a hoarse laugh.
"What exactly do you want from a disabled man like me?"
"Your power."
I pulled out the last silver needle, bringing a string of black blood with it.
"I want the Sinclair family and every person who ever bullied me to kneel in front of me and beg for forgiveness. And you..."
I leaned close to his ear and whispered, "You need someone to cure your poisoning, help you stand again, and help you take back everything that belongs to you."
Sebastian stared into my eyes.
There was no greed there. No fear. Only absolute confidence and ambition.
Just like him.
"Deal."
He extended that scarred hand toward me.
"But if you can't fix my legs..."
Murder flashed in his eyes. "I'll snap your neck with my own hands and preserve your body."
I took his hand.
Cold. Strong.
"Relax. That'll never happen."
Right then, a burst of noisy footsteps and car engines came from outside.
"Well, well, Uncle Sebastian. Heard today's your big day. I came by to drink a toast to the happy couple."
A flippant male voice drifted in.
A second later, the front door was kicked open.
A group of men in black suits barged in. Leading them was a young man holding a bottle of champagne, a mocking grin all over his face.
The moment he saw Sebastian sitting in the coffin and me standing there soaked through, he laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.
He burst out laughing. "Perfect match, huh? One disabled man and one country bumpkin. Uncle Sebastian, comfy in that coffin? You two doing the wedding night in there too?"
A violent glint flashed across Sebastian's eyes.
I pressed a hand over his, telling him not to move.
Then I turned and stepped in front of the coffin.
"What stray dog came in here barking?"
I casually grabbed a memorial tablet from nearby.
If we were putting on a show, we might as well go all in.
Today's first fire could start with this idiot who delivered himself right to my door.