Chapter 3 - Morning Rounds at St. Jude’sThe morning sun broke over the Chicago skyline, casting long, bruised streaks of orange and gray across Lake Michigan.
Sadie sat in the hard plastic chair beside Bed 312 in St. Jude’s pediatric oncology ward, her eyes bloodshot, her fingers tightly interwoven in her lap. She hadn't slept. After her shift ended at dawn, she had expected Mrs. Rinaldi to call her into the office and fire her for loitering outside the boss's door. Instead, she had been handed a sealed envelope by the head housekeeper with a curt nod and told to take the morning off.
Inside the envelope was a cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars, made out directly to her name, with no note, no explanation, and no signature.
And then, twenty minutes ago, the head nurse had walked in with a clipboard, smiling broadly for the first time in six months.
"Miss Hayes, I don't know what kind of miracle you pulled off with the hospital board," the nurse had said, her voice bright with relief, "but your brother’s account has been settled in full. Endowment fund coverage. Furthermore, Dr. Vance reviewed Sam’s file this morning, and we’ve been approved for an experimental trial starting Monday. A specialist from Johns Hopkins is flying in to oversee it."
Sadie had stared at her in stunned, uncomprehending silence.
Now, looking over at the bed, she watched Sam sleep. His breathing was deeper, easier, free of the ragged wheeze that had haunted her dreams for months. The IV drip was clear. The heart monitor beeped in a steady, reassuring rhythm.
The door to the hospital room clicked open.
Sadie turned, expecting a doctor or a social worker.
Instead, a tall, imposing figure stepped into the narrow room, instantly swallowing all the available light and air.
Victor Castello.
He wasn't wearing his formal evening jacket; he wore a heavy dark wool overcoat, open at the collar, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He looked entirely out of place among the cartoon wall decals and pastel curtains of a children’s hospital, like a predatory hawk that had wandered into a dove cote.
Sadie stood up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum tile. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Mr. Castello," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I’m sorry. I didn't mean to stay late last night. I was just—I was dealing with a personal call. I didn't mean to disturb you—"
"You didn't disturb me, Sadie," Victor said. His voice was lower in person, gravelly and resonant, carrying the absolute authority of a man who never had to raise his voice to be obeyed.
He walked slowly toward the bed, looking down at Sam’s sleeping face for a long, quiet moment. His expression didn't soften, exactly, but the harsh lines around his mouth eased by a fraction.
"Is he going to recover?" Victor asked, his eyes still fixed on the boy.
"The... the doctors say the trial gives him a fighting chance," Sadie managed, her hands knotting into fists at her sides. "Mr. Castello, I don't know what you did. I don't know why my debt to Mick O'Shea disappeared this morning, or why the hospital accounts were cleared, but—"
"Your debt didn't disappear," Victor interrupted, turning his dark gaze slowly to meet hers. "It was transferred. You owe me now, Sadie."
The words hung in the sterile air like a falling blade.
Sadie closed her eyes for a brief second, accepting her fate. Of course nothing was free. In Victor Castello’s world, mercy was just another currency.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice steadying with a sudden, desperate pride. "Do you want me to sign a contract? Do you want me to quit my job here and work at the estate full-time without pay? Just tell me."
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Victor stared at her for a long, intense beat, taking in the bruised knuckles, the tired eyes, the fierce, trembling dignity of a girl who would burn her own hands off to keep her brother breathing.
"I don't need a servant, Sadie," Victor said quietly, stepping closer until she could smell the faint scent of cedar and rain on his coat. "I need a wife."
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