Chapter 1

To build his first crush, Ivy Foster's reputation as a miracle doctor, Julian Lockwood stopped the targeted medication my mom had been taking for three years and forced her to swallow that syringe of Ivy's experimental drug, which hadn't passed clinical trials.

I sank to the floor beside the hospital bed, head bowed, pleading desperately for them to save my mom.

Julian had his arm around Ivy's waist, leaning down to kiss her forehead, not sparing me a glance. He waved at the nurse. "Inject it."

The moment the needle pierced my mom's hand, she arched her back, letting out a strangled, animalistic cry.

Ivy leaned in, jotting down data in her notebook, a hint of satisfaction curling her lips. "The physical reaction is a bit more intense than expected, but it won't affect the results. Keep monitoring."

I lunged forward, desperate to yank the syringe out, but Julian seized my wrist with a grip so strong that it felt like he could crush my bones, then tossed me aside.

He snapped, "Your mom being used as live data for Ivy's new drug is the most worthwhile thing she's ever done."

He took a call, released his grip on me, and strode out of the room. He didn't spare my mom a single glance, nor did he bother telling anyone to stop the treatment.

I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the bed. My mom's hand was trembling, her lips already turning blue. She looked at me, her mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

"Chloe, k-keep my dentures safe for me," she whispered.

That was all she said.

For the next four hours, her body kept convulsing. When blood started seeping from every opening in her face, Ivy frowned, scribbled something in her notebook, then left with the nurse Julian had sent to keep watch.

As she walked out, she turned back and said, "That's it for the records. Any further data is meaningless."

My mom died in my arms. Her body was still warm, her eyes wide open.

I kept wiping the blood from her face with my handkerchief. When the handkerchief was drenched, I switched to my sleeve.

The door to the hospital room swung open.

Dylan Hayes, Julian's secretary, stood in the doorway, adjusting his glasses but not coming in. "Mrs. Lockwood, Mr. Lockwood said the room's reservation ends tonight. Please handle the discharge paperwork as soon as you can.

"The body disposal fee is 12 thousand dollars; it'll be taken out of your allowance next month."

I looked up at him. His eyes landed on my mom's face for a second before darting away, and he swallowed hard. "Dylan, my mom is dead."

"I know," he said quietly. Then he turned and left without another word.

He paused at the door for a couple of seconds, as if he was about to turn around, but in the end, he walked away, closing the door softly behind him.

I sat in the hospital room all night.

At three in the morning, I searched through all my pockets. I only had 400 dollars left in my bank account. That was my entire allowance for the month.

Julian only gave me 600 dollars a month, enough to cover groceries and basic chores. Not a cent more.

400 dollars wasn't enough for a cremation.

I ran my thumb over my mom's dentures.

Why did she ask me to keep them safe? Those dentures were the most valuable thing she ever owned. I'd secretly saved up for six months, skimping on groceries, to get them for her three years ago.

I took the dentures out, wrapped them in a tissue, and slipped them into my pocket.

As my fingers brushed the inside of the dentures, I felt a small bump that didn't belong there.

I didn't think much of it. I didn't have the strength to think about anything else.

When morning came, I called Julian. "My mom's body is still in the hospital room. I need money for the cremation."

It sounded like he was at a party on his end, Ivy's laughter faintly coming through. "How much?" he asked.

"12 thousand dollars."

"There's no extra budget. Ask Ivy for it. Tell her it's the cleanup costs for her experiment subject. She'll have no problem getting it reimbursed."

He was telling me to borrow money from the woman who killed my mom to pay for her cremation.

I said, "Julian, she was my mom."

"Chloe, let me make one thing clear." His voice went cold. "Who do you think your mom is? She's some nobody from the sticks.

"The fact that she got a bed in this hospital? That's me going out of my way for you. Now Ivy needs volunteers for her new drug; your mom should be grateful she got picked.

"Don't forget your place. You're the housekeeper. I pay you 600 dollars a month to cook and clean, that's it. Your mom's life?

"I paid for her treatment for three years. You know how much that cost me. Now the meds stopped working? That's fate."

He hung up.

I sat on a plastic chair in the hallway, my phone screen fading to black. The harsh white lights made the blood stains on my hands look dull and gray.

I'd been married to Julian for five years.

I gave up everything, like my education, my job, my friends. I shut myself off from everyone.

He said he liked coming home to a hot meal, so I made sure there was always a hot meal waiting for him, every single day, for five years.

He said he didn't want me working outside and embarrassing him, so I stayed inside that villa for five years, never stepping out once.

I never knew when he started seeing Ivy.

First, he stopped coming home for dinner a year ago. Then, six months back, he pretty much stopped coming home altogether.

Three months ago, he brought Ivy home and introduced her to my face. "This is Ivy. She'll be living here from now on. Go get the guest room ready."

I got the guest room ready.

When my mom got sick, he promised to cover her treatment.

Back then, I actually thought he still had a bit of a conscience. But now I finally see it. Ever since the day my mom was admitted, Ivy had already tagged her as nothing more than a test subject.

Three years on those targeted meds and three years of pretending to care were to fatten up a guinea pig for Ivy's experiments.

From the nurse's station at the end of the hallway, the night nurse called out, "Family of patient 307, the body can't stay in the room for more than 24 hours. If you don't take care of it, we'll have to treat it as unclaimed."

I stood up, my legs numb, and walked over to the nurse's station. "Can you give me one more day? I'll figure something out."

The nurse didn't look up, flipped a page in her magazine. "Rules are rules. Mrs. Lockwood called earlier and said she needs this room for something else. You've got to be out by noon."

Mrs. Lockwood? Ivy was already using that title.

I went back to the hospital room and sat by my mom's bedside. My mom's hand was already going cold.

My phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I let it ring.

Half a minute later, it buzzed again. It was the same number.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then switched my phone off.

Whoever it was, I didn't have it in me to deal with anyone right now.

I needed 12 thousand dollars, and I had to get it before noon.

Flipping through my contacts, there was only one person left I could call, Julian's mother, Sophia Lockwood.

For five years as part of the Lockwood family, I'd taken care of Sophia more attentively than I ever did for Julian.

I knew every snack she loved, and I always had the car ready whenever she was heading out to play cards with her friends.

Every holiday, I was the one who picked out her gifts; even if Julian paid for them, it was always my thought and effort that went into it.

I thought she'd at least care about everything I'd done for her.

As soon as the call connected, before I could say a word, Sophia's voice came through, sharp and cold. "You've got the nerve to call me?

"Your mom was nothing but a jinx. Glad she's gone. Ivy told me your mom volunteered for that experiment. Who are you trying to pin this on now?"

"Mom, that's not true. That drug wasn't cleared for use. Julian made her take it against her will."

"Shut up. You think I don't know what Julian does? You're jealous Ivy's got talent, can't stand she's better than you, so you're trying to drag her down.

"Do you know how much it costs to keep your mom alive for three years? My son's been footing the bill for you and your mom for five years, and you're still not grateful?"

"Mom, I need to borrow 12 thousand dollars for my mom's cremation."

"Not a dime. If you feel so wronged, then divorce my son and get out of the Lockwood family. You won't get a single cent when you leave. Don't think about it.

"You're some washed-up nobody from the sticks. Without my son, you wouldn't last a day."

I set my phone down and realized my nails had dug so deeply into my palms that they left four crescent-shaped red marks.

At noon, the hospital's logistics staff showed up to take my mom to the morgue. If no one paid to claim her body within three days, she'd be handled as unclaimed remains.

That meant she'd be cremated along with other unclaimed bodies, her ashes mixed together and dumped in a communal scattering ground.

I blocked the doorway. "Please give me three days. Three days, and I swear I'll pay."

The guy from logistics sighed, glancing at my blood-stained clothes and my swollen, puffy eyes. "Three days. After that, there's nothing I can do."

I gave him a quick bow, then turned and walked out of the hospital. I made my way to a corner of the parking lot and crouched down there.

I couldn't cry. My eyes were dry. Everything felt stuck inside me, trapped in my chest, unable to move.

I pulled the dentures out of my pocket and turned them over to look at the back.

That little bump felt like metal, definitely not part of the dentures themselves.

I dug my nail into it.

A tiny black disc, smaller than my thumbnail, came loose and dropped into my palm.

There was a tiny switch on one side.

I didn't know what it was. But keeping her dentures safe was the only thing she asked of me before she died.

I wrapped it up again and tucked it into my bra, keeping it close to my body.

Then I stood up.

Three days was all I had.

I had to come up with 12 thousand dollars in three days.