Chapter 2

When I woke up, the escort chair was still empty.

A dull pain pressed from my chest into my shoulders and back.

June stood by the window, dialing Ethan’s number. For the third time, it went straight to voicemail.

“Does he know you’re out of surgery?”

“He knows what time it was supposed to end.”

My phone lit up. Not a call—just a single text: Piper needs us. I’ll explain later.

The word “us” made my stomach turn.

Before the surgery, he left me here; after it, he didn't even ask if I was awake.

Yet I still wanted to chalk it up to panic—until the bank alert popped up.

Eighty-four thousand dollars had been transferred out of the Harborlight opening account forty-seven minutes ago.

I asked June to raise the head of the hospital bed, the strain pulling at my tender incisions.

After verifying my identity, the representative told me the funds had already gone through, and all they could do now was freeze the remaining balance.

“Freeze it.”

“The account is under joint authorization between you and Mr. Ethan Whitmore. Revoking his signing authority requires a written request, which won't be reviewed until the branch opens.”

“Send me the documents. Right now.”

June held the tablet steady while I signed page after page.

My hand shook so badly that my signature barely looked like my own.

Once the application went through, I didn't waste time wondering how Ethan would explain himself.

The nurse had warned me not to lift my arms, not to reach too far, not to make decisions while the medication was still clouding my judgment.

But Harborlight did not have the luxury of waiting for me to feel stronger.

In forty-eight hours, the final inspection payment was due. In three days, payroll would hit. The opening was less than two weeks away, and every delay now had a number attached to it.

I could recover in bed.

The inn could not.

I just did the math: payroll was due Friday, and the final payment for the fire safety inspection was due in two days.

Without that eighty-four thousand dollars, the inn could shut down before we even opened the doors.

“Where’s the spare key?” I asked.

Before Ethan took the master key, there had been a spare left in the office—hidden under the blue ceramic jar in our study at home.

June grabbed her coat. “I’ll go get it. You stay put and don't push yourself.”

After she left, Ethan finally called back.

“We found Piper. She was at a friend’s house,” he said quickly. “Sloane was terrified. I’ll come see you later.”

I gripped the phone tightly. “Did you transfer money out of Harborlight?”

Silence fell over the other end of the line.

“It’s a short-term advance,” he said. “I’ll replace it.”

I hung up and reopened the transaction details.

The payment note stated it with crystal clarity: Sloane Mercer—Harborlight Partner Capital Contribution.

What on earth had Ethan promised her to have the nerve to use my inn to pave her way?