When Severine opened her eyes again, she was in a private hospital room.
The white walls and sharp overhead light stabbed at her senses. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes—but a sharp jolt of pain froze her in place.
Last night's memories came flooding back to her mind.
It seemed her small gamble had worked. The fact that she had woken up in the hospital was enough proof that Killian Rhett King hadn't taken her seriously at all.
Thank god, she mused, patting her chest.
The doctor arrived soon after she rang the bell.
"There's a fracture. Thankfully, it isn't severe, but you'll need to be careful with your movements," he explained while putting Severine's arm in a cast.
A stabilizing sling was secured around her shoulder, so her arm wouldn't move too much.
Severine hated hospitals. Always had, especially the lingering scent of disinfectants that clung to the air.
Whenever her mother had a depressive episode, Severine would accompany her to the hospital. And every minute spent there gave her the same feeling of being trapped in a little box.
Suffocating and terribly disgusting.
Still, it was the alcohol that had knocked her out cold for an entire night and saved her from the slow agony of being conscious in that place.
The same alcohol that had caused all the mess...
Was that God's mercy?
At least, her sleep was peaceful enough.
Shaking her head, she fumbled inside her purse. Her phone screen showed no new missed calls, only a few notifications from her assistant regarding her work.
She couldn't tell if she was relieved not to see her father's call or disappointed.
It didn't take her long to get discharged.
As soon as she got in her car, the driver quickly asked, "Young miss, where do you want to go? To the main house or to the dormitory?"
The main house?
If she went there with an arm sling, she was sure to get her father's look, the one that told her how disappointed he was without saying a word.
Not to mention, her father's illegitimate son.
No. Absolutely not.
She had no energy or will to deal with any of them. The dormitory wasn't an option either. She needed rest.
Preferably far away from everyone.
"To my apartment. Winterhall Enclave."
The driver promptly changed the routes according to her instructions.
Winterhall Enclave was a world carved out of mist and wealth. Each dawn, silvery sea-fog wove around the cliffside villas like a shimmering veil, turning everything ethereal.
Only those who were both the richest and luckiest had secured a home here.
Severine was one of those.
One could even say that it was by the stroke of luck that she managed to buy the place when the construction hadn't even begun yet.
Her only reason was to get a place far away from everyone, where she wouldn't have to hide from the judging eyes.
After a two-hour drive, she stepped out of the car, her gaze scanning the place in front of her.
It was larger than the main house—perhaps even better looking, though that might have just been her bias. She liked this home.
No one from her family knew she had a place here. If they did, she was sure her bastard brother would come to pester her.
"Young miss, is there something else you need me to bring?" the driver asked.
There was an obvious hint of worry in his words.
"No need, uncle. You can leave. I'll call you when I need to go back."
The driver didn't insist anymore.
Severine's residence was a glass-fronted villa overlooking the restless silver sea, along with a handful of other villas.
The flowering vines veined the pale stone walls, obscured by the misty haze. The gold-carved lanterns hung along the long path that cut through the delicate garden and led straight to the pair of grand doors.
A special in-built system automatically opened the doors when it sensed the owner.
In the entire living room, there were only a handful of trinkets, suggesting someone lived there.
A grand staircase looped upward, leading to the upper floors where Severine's bedroom was.
However, she didn't go to rest as instructed by the doctor.
First, she took a bath to get rid of the hospital smell.
Although every small movement brought sharp pain, forcing audible groans from her, she still patiently went through it.
Then she headed to the kitchen and made herself a cup of steaming coffee.
Black liquid without an ounce of sugar.
She sat on the sofa and slowly took a sip.
The bitterness slid down her throat, warming her empty stomach. A content sigh escaped her lips.
Her muddled mind slowly began to turn again, and the reality dawned on her all over again.
She—Severine Vale, heiress of Vale Enterprises—was nothing more than cannon fodder in some damned novel.
And Killian Rhett King, the novel's untouchable villain, had tossed her into a hospital without even bothering to contact her family members.
"That's good, really good."
A small, fleeting smile appeared ot the corner of her lips as she recalled the face of the villain.
It was better that way. After all, according to the plot that appeared in her dreams, Killian was more unhinged than Damien Rhodes.