Chapter 2

Claire's POV

My phone rang at 3 AM, jolting me awake. My room was pitch black, and for a moment, I couldn't remember what day it was. Right. I was back in Seattle, two months after that charity auction in Boston.

"Hello?" My voice was rough with sleep.

"Claire, I need your help." Alexander's voice trembled on the other end.

I sat up immediately, switching on the bedside lamp. My brother never called me. Ever. "What happened?"

"I can't... not over the phone. Can you come to the main house? Please?"

The desperation in his voice made my stomach tighten. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

I threw on jeans and a cashmere sweater, grabbed my keys, and walked across the grounds of our family estate to the main mansion. Though I maintained my own private wing in the east side of the Stanton estate, Alexander lived in the central part of the sprawling complex. The massive main house stood dark except for lights in Alexander's quarters.

He opened the door before I could knock, his face pale and eyes bloodshot.

"Jesus, Alex, you look terrible." I stepped inside, noticing his disheveled appearance - rumpled clothes and hair sticking up at odd angles.

"I really screwed up, Claire." He paced the room, hands shaking. "Dad's going to kill me."

"Sit down and tell me what happened." I guided him to the leather couch.

Alexander dropped his head into his hands. "I let Ben Adams borrow my car."

"Ben Adams? That spoiled brat whose father works for the State Department?"

"Yeah. Not exactly borrow. I kind of... gave it to him."

I clenched my jaw. "The limited edition Porsche Dad gave you for graduation? You gave it away?"

He nodded miserably.

"Why would you do that?"

"Ben's father has connections that could help me get into politics. I wanted to impress him."

I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache forming. "And?"

"Ben took it racing tonight. He was drunk. The car crashed into a guardrail on Rainier Mountain Road."

My breath caught. "Is he okay?"

"They took him to the hospital. He'll survive."

"Thank God." I exhaled, then noticed Alexander's expression. "There's more, isn't there?"

He nodded, pulling out his phone and showing me social media posts - blurry photos of the wrecked Porsche, paramedics, and a glimpse of a partially clothed young woman being loaded into an ambulance.

"There was a girl with him," Alexander whispered. "She's in critical condition."

"Who is she?"

"I don't know. Some model or something."

My fingers dug into the leather armrest. "You don't know her name? A girl might die, and you don't even know her name?"

"Claire, we are siblings," Alexander pleaded, eyes suddenly watery. "Mom left for London to 'find peace' and abandoned us both. Dad never liked me anyway. You're the only family I have."

I bit back my anger. This manipulative side of Alexander always made me keep my distance.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Can Richard help delete these posts? If Dad sees them..."

I pulled out my phone and called Richard. Despite the hour, he answered on the second ring.

"Claire? Everything okay?"

"I need a favor. Alexander's in trouble."

I explained the situation while Richard listened silently.

"It's complicated," he finally said. "Those photos are already spreading."

"Richard, please. You have the connections."

He sighed. "I'll make some calls. Give me a couple hours."

"Thank you." I hung up and turned to Alexander. "Richard will handle the online stuff."

"What about the girl?" Alexander asked, staring at his hands.

"You should find out who she is and make sure she gets the best care."

He shrugged. "Ben's family will handle that."

I grabbed his arm, hard enough to make him wince. "No. This is your responsibility. That girl is fighting for her life because you gave your car to an idiot."

"Fine, whatever." He pulled away, rubbing his arm.

"And stay away from Ben Adams. He's trouble."

Alexander scoffed. "You don't get to tell me who my friends are."

"I do when I'm cleaning up your mess." I stood up. "I'm going back to my room. Call me when you find out about the girl."

Two hours later, Richard texted: Posts removed. Consider it handled.

I stared at the ceiling of my room, unable to sleep. The Stanton family legacy hung over me like a weight. I wasn't helping Alexander out of sisterly love - I was protecting our family name. Protecting my position.

Dad always said he liked me best because I was "clear-headed." The truth was, I was just the most obedient. The perfect daughter who never caused problems. All to secure my place as his successor.

At dawn, I called my assistant. "Emily, I need you to find out about a car accident victim. Female, early twenties, admitted to emergency last night."

An hour later, Emily called back. "Her name is Sarah Brown. She's in intensive care at Seattle Memorial. The doctors say she sustained severe head trauma. They're not optimistic about recovery."

"Who's paying her medical bills?"

"No one yet. She has basic insurance that won't cover extended ICU care."

"Handle it. Tell the hospital to provide the best care possible. I want updates on her condition."

"There's more," Emily added. "Her brother arrived at the hospital this morning. He's demanding answers."

"Find out everything about him."

Emily called again while I was showering. "Sarah Brown, 23, from a small town in Oregon. Came to Seattle to become a model. Her brother is Daniel Brown, 30, former Navy SEAL. He did two tours with UN peacekeeping missions in Syria and Somalia. Currently works for Sentinel Security."

I froze under the hot water. Daniel Brown. Victoria Reynolds' bodyguard from the charity auction two months ago. The man with those intense blue-gray eyes.

A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. I wrapped myself in a robe and found Nathan, my half-brother, leaning against the doorframe.

"You shouldn't save that girl," he said without preamble.

I pulled him inside. "How do you know about that?"

Nathan, the fifth child and William's acknowledged illegitimate son, smiled thinly. "I know everything that happens in this house. Alexander is panicking."

"The girl deserves care."

"She's nobody. Why risk getting involved?"

I studied Nathan's face. Despite our different mothers, we'd always been closer than Alexander and I. He understood the ruthlessness required to survive in our family.

"Sometimes doing the right thing is also the smart thing," I said.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about 'right'?"

I turned away, staring out at the manicured grounds of our family estate. A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the wintry air. This place consumed people, hollowed them out until nothing remained but ambition and calculation.

"I'm going to the hospital," I announced.

"Why?" Nathan looked genuinely confused.

"To meet this Daniel Brown."

At Seattle Memorial, I stood outside the ICU, watching through the glass as a tall man with military-short hair held the hand of a pale, unconscious young woman. The machines around her beeped steadily, the only sign she was still alive.

Daniel Brown. Up close, he was even more imposing than at the charity auction. His broad shoulders were hunched now, his face a mask of grief and rage.

When he turned and saw me watching, those ice-blue eyes narrowed. He released his sister's hand and strode toward the door.

My heart raced as he approached, his gaze locked on mine. Every instinct told me to retreat, but I stood my ground.

"You're Claire Stanton," he said, voice low and controlled. "I saw you at the auction with Victoria Reynolds."

"I'm here about your sister."

His jaw tightened. "What do you have to do with Sarah?"

The corridor suddenly felt too small, the air charged between us. Up close, I could see the faint scar above his right eyebrow, the stubble darkening his jaw. My skin tingled with awareness.

"The car that hit her belongs to my family," I said.

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "So you're here to what? Buy me off? Make this go away?"

"No, I'm here to help."

Daniel stepped closer, his height forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "People like you don't help people like us without wanting something in return."

I swallowed hard, suddenly very conscious of how close he stood, the heat radiating from his body. For the first time in years, I felt off-balance, my careful control slipping.

"What I want," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "is to make sure your sister gets the care she needs."