While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

The heavy walnut door of the Mount Sinai VIP hospital room pushed open.

Ansley stepped inside. The harsh, sterile stench of bleach hit her first, immediately followed by the sickeningly sweet scent of expensive lilies. The combination made her stomach churn.

She walked past the privacy screen. Kegan lay on the hospital bed. Her usually vibrant face was the color of ash. Clear plastic IV tubes snaked out from the back of her pale hand, pumping fluids into her fragile veins.

Leo, the junior engineer, stepped forward. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red. He didn't say a word. He just held out an iPad with a shattered screen.

Ansley looked down. The banking app was open. The company account balance showed a negative number in glaring red font. Below it was the final foreclosure notice from the bank.

Suddenly, a text message from Cade Vance popped up at the top of the cracked screen.

Tell Kegan her algorithm is going to make a great stepping stone for my new company. Thanks for the hard work, losers.

Ansley's pupils contracted. Her fingers gripped the edges of the iPad so hard her knuckles turned completely white. The sharp, broken glass bit into her thumb, but she didn't feel the pain.

A violent coughing fit erupted from the bed. Kegan's thin frame shook uncontrollably. She reached over with her free hand and grabbed the IV tubes, her fingers trembling as she tried to rip the needles out of her skin.

"It's over," Kegan rasped, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes and soaking into the white pillowcase. "We're done."

Ansley dropped the iPad onto a nearby chair. She lunged forward. She pressed both of her hands down on Kegan's bony shoulders, pinning her to the mattress.

"Stop it," Ansley ordered. Her voice was low, but it left no room for argument.

Kegan squeezed her eyes shut. A sob tore through her throat.

Ansley took a deep breath. She let go of Kegan's shoulders. She reached into her Birkin bag and pulled out her own phone.

Her fingers moved rapidly across the screen, typing in a complex string of passwords. She opened the private wealth management portal of UBS.

The screen loaded. It displayed a family trust account under her name. It was an account Arthur Holcomb had punitively frozen five years ago when she was exiled to Europe at eighteen. It had just automatically unlocked last week on her twenty-third birthday, a legal technicality the family office had somehow overlooked.

Ansley's thumb hovered over the screen, trembling so violently she could barely keep the phone steady. She was terrified. Touching this money meant stepping back into a world that had nearly destroyed her. But as Kegan let out another agonizing cough, Ansley squeezed her eyes shut, a hot tear slipping down her cheek. She tapped the button for an international wire transfer.

She typed in the corporate routing number for Aura Aerospace. In the amount box, she typed a one followed by six zeros. One million dollars.

A red warning box flashed on the screen. It required a Face ID scan for a high-risk transaction.

Ansley held the phone up to her face. Her expression was pale and fraught with a deep, silent panic, but her eyes locked onto Kegan's fragile form. The screen flashed green. The word APPROVED appeared.

Ten seconds later, the corporate finance phone in Leo's pocket let out a piercing chime.

Leo pulled the phone out. He stared at the screen. He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest heaving. He looked up at Ansley, his mouth hanging open.

"A-Ansley..." Leo stuttered, pointing at the screen. "How..."

Ansley ignored him. She pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand. She leaned over and gently wiped the wet tears from Kegan's cheeks.

"The company is not going bankrupt," Ansley said quietly. "Focus on breathing. Focus on living. I will handle the rest."

Kegan's eyes flew open. She stared at the quiet, unassuming girl she had known for years. She looked at Ansley like she was seeing a stranger.

Ansley didn't offer an explanation. She turned around and grabbed her trench coat from the back of a chair.

"I have to go clean up a mess," Ansley said.

She walked out of the room and let the heavy door click shut behind her.

The hallway was quiet. Outside the window at the end of the corridor, a massive autumn storm was tearing through Manhattan. Heavy rain lashed against the thick glass.

Ansley walked to the elevator and pressed the down button.

Before the button could even light up, the phone in her hand vibrated violently.

She looked at the screen. A name she hadn't seen in five years flashed across the glass. Jacky Madden.

Ansley's lungs stopped working. Her thumb hovered over the green accept button. It shook.

She finally swiped right and lifted the phone to her ear.

A heavy sigh came through the speaker. It sounded amused, but laced with a sharp warning.

"He knows," Jacky whispered into the phone. "Emery knows you're back in the city, Ansley."

Ansley's head snapped toward the window at the end of the hall.

She walked toward the glass. She looked down through the sheets of rain.

Parked directly in front of the hospital entrance was a black Maybach.

Sam, the family driver, was standing by the rear door. He held a massive black umbrella over his head. Even from this height, Ansley could see him looking straight up at her floor.

Waiting for her.

Ansley pushed through the revolving glass doors of the hospital.

A blast of freezing wind hit her face. The rain felt like tiny needles against her skin.

Sam immediately stepped forward. He tilted the massive black umbrella over her head, shielding her from the storm. He didn't smile. He just reached out and pulled the heavy rear door of the Maybach open.

It was a respectful gesture, but it was an absolute command.

Ansley had nowhere to run. She bent her head and slid into the backseat.

The air inside the car smelled heavily of expensive leather and polish. The second Sam slammed the door shut, the sound of the storm vanished. The silence inside the cabin was thick enough to choke on.

The Maybach pulled away from the curb smoothly. It merged onto Fifth Avenue.

Ansley stared out the tinted window. The neon lights of the city blurred together in the rain. She twisted the belt of her trench coat around her fingers, pulling the fabric so tight her knuckles ached.

The car turned into the heavily guarded underground garage of an ultra-luxury building on the Upper East Side.

The tires squeaked against the polished concrete floor as the car parked.

Ansley got out. She followed Sam toward a private elevator tucked away in the corner. Sam stepped aside. Ansley leaned forward and let the red laser scan her retina.

The doors slid open. She stepped inside alone.

The elevator shot upward at a sickening speed. Ansley's stomach dropped to her shoes. Acid burned the back of her throat.

Ding.

The doors parted. The elevator opened directly into a massive, cold-toned minimalist living room.

Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, stood waiting by the entrance. She reached out and took Ansley's dripping coat.

"Welcome home, Miss Ansley," Mrs. Gable said softly. Her eyes held a flicker of complicated pity.

Ansley looked around. The apartment looked exactly the same as it did five years ago. Not a single throw pillow had been moved. The angle of the coffee table was identical. The obsessive control in the room made her skin crawl.

From the deep shadows near the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sharp clink of ice hitting crystal echoed through the room.

Ansley's spine locked. Her eyes slowly dragged toward the single armchair in the dark corner.

Emery Holcomb stood up.

He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit. His dress shoes made absolutely no sound against the thick wool rug as he stepped out of the shadows.

He walked into the halo of light cast by the crystal chandelier. His face was flawless. It was a face carved from marble, and right now, it held zero emotion.

Ansley took a half-step backward. Her shoulder blades hit the cold wall behind her.

Emery's eyes were like physical weights. They dragged over her forehead, down her neck, across her chest, and all the way to the tips of her shoes. He was dissecting every change in her over the last five years.

He set his glass down on a side table.

Then, he closed the distance between them in three long strides.

Ansley squeezed her eyes shut. She braced her body for the screaming.

Instead, she was pulled into a chest that smelled of cedarwood and dark tobacco.

Emery's arms wrapped around her waist. He pulled her flush against his body. The force of his grip was terrifying. He squeezed her so hard her ribs groaned under the pressure. She couldn't pull air into her lungs.

He rested his chin near her temple. His breathing was perfectly steady, but the muscles in his arms were coiled tight as steel.

"Welcome home, Ansley," he murmured. His voice was smooth, cultured, and terrifyingly calm. "I have been waiting for you."

Ansley's arms hovered in the air. She didn't wrap them around his back. She just stood there, rigid as a board, enduring the crush of his body.

Emery felt her stiffness. He pulled back slightly. A dark cloud passed over his eyes, but it vanished instantly, replaced by the gentle mask of a perfect older brother.

He lifted his hand. His long fingers brushed a wet strand of hair away from her cheek. The touch was so light it made the hairs on her arms stand up.

"You triggered a million-dollar wire transfer that alerted the family office," Emery said softly, his thumb tracing her jawline. "For a bankrupt company owned by an outsider. Do you know what our parents will do when they find out?"

Ansley bit down on her lower lip. She forced herself to look him in the eyes.

"Kegan is not an outsider," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "She is my best friend."

The gentle smile on Emery's face froze. His eyes turned black and dangerous.

He pressed his thumb hard against her lower lip, right over the spot she had just bitten. He rubbed the red mark until it stung.

"In this city, Ansley," Emery said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "I am the only one you rely on."

The rattle of a serving cart broke the tension. Mrs. Gable pushed it into the room, her eyes glued to the floor.

Emery dropped his hand. The dangerous aura vanished. He stepped back and adjusted his cuffs.

"Go to the dining room," Emery ordered, his tone suddenly light and casual. "Mother and Father will be here any minute."

The security system chimed a soft, melodic tune.

Eleanor and Arthur Holcomb walked into the apartment, bringing the chill of the autumn storm with them.

Ansley stood beside the massive dining table. Her palms were sweating. She forced her spine straight and offered a stiff, polite greeting to her adoptive parents.

Eleanor unclasped her fur shawl and handed it to the housekeeper. Her sharp, critical eyes scanned Ansley from head to toe. It felt like an X-ray designed to find flaws.

Arthur didn't even look at her. He gave a dismissive nod and walked straight to the head of the table. He sat down and immediately opened his iPad to check the NASDAQ index.

The four of them sat around a rosewood table large enough to seat twelve. The physical distance between them was vast, but the tension in the air was suffocating.

A maid served the first course of cold appetizers. The sound of silver forks scraping against bone china echoed in the quiet room. It made Ansley's heart beat too fast.

Eleanor cut a tiny piece of foie gras. She didn't look up from her plate.

"So," Eleanor drawled slowly. "How many days do you plan to stay in New York this time?"

Ansley put her fork down. She took a deep breath. She looked directly into Eleanor's cold eyes.

"I resigned from my job in Geneva," Ansley said evenly. "I am staying."

The air in the dining room turned to ice.

Arthur's finger stopped mid-swipe on his iPad screen.

The fake smile vanished from Eleanor's face. She dropped her fork onto her plate. The silver hit the porcelain with a loud, sharp crack.

"Who gave you permission to throw away your career in Europe?" Eleanor's voice was shrill and piercing.

Ansley's stomach twisted into a painful knot. She forced herself not to look away.

"I am twenty-three years old," Ansley said. "I have the right to decide where I live."

Arthur finally looked up. His eyes were flat and cruel.

"You will not bring any uncontrollable risks to the reputation of this family," Arthur warned, his voice heavy with authority.

Eleanor sneered. "It took us five years to bury those disgusting rumors you caused. You have no right to come back here and ruin things again."

All the blood drained from Ansley's face. The memory of five years ago hit her like a physical blow. Her fingers grabbed the linen napkin on her lap, twisting it into a tight knot.

Across the table, Emery suddenly moved.

He slowly placed his silver knife and fork down onto his plate.

The metal made a soft, deliberate click against the bone china. The sound was so quiet, yet it sliced through the tension like a guillotine blade.

Everyone froze.

Emery looked at his parents, the gentle smile completely wiped from his flawless face. His voice was low, but the pressure behind his words was crushing.

"Ansley will stay here as long as she wants," Emery stated.

Arthur's face turned purple. He slammed his hand on the table. "You spoil this girl too much! She is not your blood! I am your father, and I say-"

"I am the current CEO of the Holcomb conglomerate," Emery cut him off. His eyes locked onto his father's, completely devoid of respect. "Do not forget who signs your dividend checks, Father."

Arthur's mouth snapped shut. His chest heaved, but he couldn't form a single word. Emery had hit his weakest spot.

Eleanor quickly tried to smooth things over. Her voice softened, but the venom was still there.

"Emery, darling, be reasonable," Eleanor pleaded. "Her staying here will only complicate things with Brigette. Your engagement is too important."

The word engagement hit Ansley right in the chest.

Her lungs stopped working. The air was sucked out of the room. Her heart squeezed so hard it physically hurt.

Emery's jaw clenched tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He glared at his mother.

"Do not discuss my private life at this table," Emery warned darkly.

Ansley couldn't breathe. She pushed her chair back violently. The wooden legs scraped against the marble floor with a horrible screech.

"My stomach hurts," Ansley whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "Excuse me."

She turned around and walked as fast as she could without running. She fled the dining room.

She rushed down the hallway and practically threw herself into the guest bathroom. She slammed the door shut and locked it.

She leaned her back against the solid wood. She opened her mouth and gasped for air.

Outside, the muffled sounds of Eleanor's angry shouting and Emery's cold laughter bled through the walls.

Ansley walked over to the marble sink. She turned the cold water on full blast. She cupped her hands and splashed the freezing water onto her face, trying to wash away the burning pain in her chest.