Chapter 9
A sharp, searing pain exploded at the back of Daisy’s head, and she curled into herself, her body trembling.
“Help… me,” she whispered, barely audible.
Through blurred vision, she caught a glimpse of the chaos around her.
Everyone had rushed to Heather.
Desmond scooped Heather into his arms, panic written all over his face, and disappeared with her parents toward the hospital, leaving Daisy behind, once again.
The pain in her body intensified, darkness creeping in like waves crashing against the shore. Still, she refused to give in. Bit by bit, she dragged herself across the cold floor. Her fingers, bloodied and shaking, fumbled until they found the phone she’d dropped. With one final burst of strength, she dialed for emergency help.
When she finally woke up in the hospital, barely clinging to life, the first thing she heard wasn’t concern, it was blame.
“Heather fractured her ankle! She’s a dancer, for God’s sake! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I should’ve known you were a curse from the beginning!”
“You should’ve never been born! From this day forward, you’re no longer my daughter!”
The harsh words hit harder than the fall. Daisy didn’t need to ask, she already knew Heather had twisted the story again, just like always.
Her parents’ scolding faded into background noise. Slowly, she turned her gaze to Desmond. He stood there, arms crossed, face unreadable.
She wanted to scream. To fight back. To ask why no one ever believed her. But the oxygen mask muffled her voice, and her body, battered, broken, refused to move.
Eventually, Desmond convinced her parents to leave. When the door closed behind them, he stepped closer, pulling up a chair beside her.
Their eyes met.
He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers cold against her cheek.
“Heather said you tried to drag her down the stairs with you,” he murmured. “But… I know you didn’t mean to.”
Daisy’s eyes widened in shock. For a moment, just one, it felt like he might finally believe her.
But his next words crushed that hope to dust.
“I spoke to a psychiatrist,” Desmond said softly. “They said waking up from a vegetative state can cause personality changes, emotional instability, paranoia. It explains a lot.”
His voice was calm, careful, laced with pity.
“The Daisy I knew was gentle. Kind. She would’ve never hurt someone else like this.”
He took a breath.
“I should’ve seen the signs earlier. But it’s not too late.”
Desmond stood and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll arrange for you to stay at the best mental health facility money can buy. We’ll get you the help you need. And when you’re better… maybe the old Daisy will come back.”
His tone was gentle, but Daisy felt a chill claw its way down her spine.
She tried to protest, her voice barely fogging the oxygen mask. But Desmond wasn’t asking.
He turned to her parents and explained his plan in full.
Hannah hesitated, torn between shame and fear of public scandal. But Samuel, his motives far less complicated, and Heather, smiling sweetly, both agreed without question.
“I actually know a great facility,” Heather said. “Private, discreet, and very effective. I think it’s the perfect place for my sister.”
As the others spoke, Daisy looked up, and her eyes locked with Heather’s.
Heather’s expression softened into something innocent for the others to see. But when she turned back to Daisy, her eyes gleamed with malice.
Her lips curled into a slow, smug smile.
You’re mine now.
Let’s see you crawl your way out of this.
A blood-curdling scream tore through the sterile quiet of the treatment room.
Strapped tightly to the electroshock bed, Daisy thrashed, her body convulsing violently, as pain surged through every nerve ending,
and no one came to save her.
