I was taken to the hospital in my swimsuit, and I told the trauma team I’d simply slipped by the pool. My stepfather held the stretcher, his eyes warning me to play along. But when the head doctor took a closer look at the parallel marks on my skin, the act stopped…
Part 1 The fluorescent lights in room 314 are a blinding, sterile white, but they don’t erase the coppery taste from my mouth. I’m nineteen. My name is Lena Ward, though living under Victor Hale’s roof has felt more like a life sentence than an identity. “She slipped in the main bathroom, doctor. You know…
