*One month ago.*

"Ms. Lawson? Can you hear my voice?"

My eyelids fluttered. A harsh fluorescent light stabbed at my pupils. I tried to turn my head, but a dull, agonizing ache radiated through my collarbone and down my spine.

"Don't move too fast," a woman instructed.

A nurse leaned over the bed. She adjusted an IV tube taped to the back of my hand.

"Water," I rasped.

My throat felt like sandpaper. Every syllable scraped against my vocal cords.

She brought a plastic cup with a straw to my lips. "Just a small sip. You took quite a hit."

I swallowed the lukewarm liquid. It barely soothed the burning in my throat.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"St. Jude's Medical Center," she replied, checking the glowing monitor above my head. "VIP wing. You were brought in two days ago."

"Two days?" I pushed myself up on my elbows.

Fire flared in my ribs. I winced, falling back against the stiff hospital pillows.

"Lie back down," she ordered, pressing a firm hand against my shoulder. "Your body went through severe trauma."

"I need to see my fiancé," I insisted, fighting against her grip. "Jasper Crawford. Did they call him? Is he in the waiting room?"

The nurse frowned. Her brow furrowed into a tight knot.

"There is no one in the waiting room for you, sweetheart."

"That's impossible." I shook my head, ignoring the spike of pain at the base of my skull. "He would never leave me here alone. Call him. Please."

"You came in as a Jane Doe," she explained softly. "The paramedics pulled you from the riverbank. We only just identified you from a waterlogged driver's license in your coat pocket an hour ago."

"Then call him now," I demanded. "He plays for the city. Everyone knows him."

"I need to page Dr. Evans first." She stepped back from the bed, smoothing her scrubs. "Stay put. I will be right back."

The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her.

Silence filled the sterile room.

I rubbed my temples, trying to clear the fog from my brain. The last thing I remembered was the sharp curve on Mulholland Drive. The brake pedal pressing all the way to the floorboards. The sickening crunch of metal as my car smashed through the guardrail and plummeted toward the dark water below.

I shivered.

A sleek silver tablet rested on the rolling nightstand next to my bed.

I reached out and grabbed it. My fingers trembled against the smooth metal casing.

I pressed the power button. The screen glowed to life, connecting instantly to the hospital's guest network. I tapped the blue icon for my favorite social media app.

I just wanted to see if Jasper had posted anything about me being missing. I needed to know he was looking for me.

The feed loaded.

My own face stared back at me.

It was a photo from our engagement party. I was smiling, holding up a glass of champagne. But the image was filtered in stark black and white.

A bold, capitalized headline stretched across the top of the screen.

*TRAGIC END: MIA LAWSON DEAD AT 24.*

My stomach plummeted.

"Dead?" I whispered to the empty room.

I scrolled down frantically. The screen blurred as my thumb swiped upward.

*Local authorities confirm the vehicle belonging to heiress Mia Lawson was recovered from the riverbed early Tuesday morning. No survivors were found. The current is believed to have swept the body away.*

I tapped another article. Then another.

Every single major news outlet reported the exact same story. I was gone. A tragic accident. A life cut short.

My chest tightened. It felt like an invisible vise crushing my ribs.

I swiped over to Jasper's official page. His follower count had skyrocketed overnight.

His latest post sat at the very top, pinned for the entire world to see. It featured a picture of us on the beach in Malibu.

*My heart is shattered,* the caption read. *Mia was my soulmate, my future, my everything. Waking up in a world without her doesn't feel real. I will love you forever, my angel.*

Underneath his words, the comment section exploded with sympathy.

*Stay strong, Jasper.*

*She is watching over you now.*

*I am so sorry for your loss.*

I scrolled slightly further and saw a comment from Zara, my best friend.

*I will help you through this, Jasper. Mia would want us to lean on each other.*

A cold chill swept over my skin.

"He thinks I'm dead," I muttered.

I tossed the tablet onto the blankets.

I needed my phone. I had to tell him. He was probably out of his mind with grief, planning a funeral for a woman who was sitting in a hospital bed just ten miles away.

I scanned the room. A clear plastic belongings bag sat on a chair in the corner.

I threw the blankets off my legs.

Pain shot up my calves as my bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor. I gritted my teeth, gripping the metal bedrail for support.

"Come on," I urged myself.

I limped across the room. My hospital gown rustled around my knees.

I tore open the plastic bag. My damp clothes were stuffed inside, smelling of river water and mud. My phone sat at the bottom, miraculously intact inside its waterproof case.

I snatched it up and held the power button.

The screen flashed the startup logo.

"Thank god," I sighed.

I didn't even bother checking my notifications. I pulled up the keypad and dialed Jasper's private number. The one only I and his agent had.

I pressed the phone to my ear.

It rang once.

Twice.

"Hello?"

His voice echoed through the speaker. It didn't sound broken. It didn't sound tear-stained. It sounded completely normal.

"Jasper," I cried out, a wave of relief washing over me. "Oh my god, Jasper, it's me."

Silence stretched over the line.

"Who is this?" he asked. His tone flattened into annoyance.

"It's Mia," I said quickly. "I'm alive. The news got it wrong."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" he snapped. "My fiancée just died. Do not call this number again."

"Jasper, wait! Don't hang up!" I shouted into the receiver. "It's not a joke. It's really me. I survived the crash."

I heard a rustling sound in the background. A muffled female voice asked a question, but I couldn't make out the words.

"Mia?" Jasper's voice dropped an octave. The annoyance vanished, replaced by a sharp, icy tension.

"Yes, baby, it's me," I pleaded, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. "The police made a mistake. I managed to swim out of the car before it sank. Someone found me on the bank and brought me to the hospital."

"You're at a hospital," he repeated. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Yes. St. Jude's. I'm in the VIP wing."

"Who else knows you're there?"

The question caught me off guard. I frowned, staring at the blank wall opposite the bed.

"Just a nurse," I answered. "They just identified me. Jasper, please come get me. I hurt everywhere and I just want to go home."

"Did you talk to the police?" he demanded.

"No," I replied, my confusion growing. "Why are you asking about the police? Jasper, aren't you happy I'm alive?"

He exhaled a long, heavy breath.

"Of course I am, sweetheart," he said. The warmth returned to his voice, smooth and practiced. "I'm just in shock. I thought I lost you forever."

"I know. I saw your post. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"Listen to me very carefully, Mia," he instructed. "Do not talk to anyone else. Don't tell the doctors anything. I am coming to get you right now."

"Okay. I'll wait for you."

"Stay in that room," he ordered. "I'll handle everything."

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the dark screen.

Something didn't feel right.

The relief I expected to feel never came. Instead, a heavy knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

Why did he care if I talked to the police?

I stood up from the bed and walked over to the small window. The city of Los Angeles stretched out below, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon.

I replayed the conversation in my head.

He didn't ask if I was badly injured. He didn't ask how I managed to escape the sinking car. He only asked who else knew I was alive.

A sharp knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I called out, expecting the nurse to return with Dr. Evans.

The handle turned. The heavy door swung open.

But it wasn't a doctor standing in the hallway.

It was a man in a dark suit, his face obscured by a blue medical mask, and he was holding a capped syringe.

"Time for your medication, Ms. Lawson," he said, stepping into the room and locking the door behind him.

I scrambled backward, my spine slamming against the stiff hospital headboard.

The man in the dark suit stepped into the room. The needle in his hand caught the harsh fluorescent light, gleaming like a tiny silver weapon.

Panic seized my chest. My thumb jammed against my phone screen, desperately trying to redial Jasper's number. I lunged for the red nurse call button pinned to my bedsheets.

He moved faster than I could blink.

A gloved hand clamped over mine, ripping the phone away from my grip. His other hand swatted the call button cord entirely out of reach.

"Give that back!" I shouted, kicking out at his waist.

He didn't flinch. He tossed my phone onto the far counter. Then he reached up and pulled down the blue medical mask.

Cold, striking green eyes locked onto mine.

"Don't call him," he ordered. His voice was a low, commanding rumble.

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, pressing myself flat against the wall. "Where is Dr. Evans?"

"Dr. Evans is busy," the man replied.

He unfastened the cap of the syringe, squirted a clear stream of liquid into the air, and tossed the entire thing into the biohazard bin.

"Saline," he explained, noticing my terrified stare. "A necessary prop to bypass the floor supervisor."

"I'm screaming for security," I threatened.

"Go ahead. But by the time they get here, Jasper's actual cleaner will be stepping off the elevator."

I froze. "What are you talking about? Jasper is coming to take me home."

"Jasper is coming to finish the job." He took a step back, giving me a fraction of space, though his intense gaze never left my face. "My name is Hayden. And I am the only reason you aren't rotting at the bottom of the river right now."

"You're lying," I spat. "The paramedics brought me here."

"There were no paramedics on Mulholland Drive at two in the morning," Hayden countered flatly. "I dragged you out of the driver's seat."

I stared at him, my breathing ragged.

"I pulled you through the shattered windshield while the current tried to drag us both under," he continued. "I carried you up the embankment."

My chest tightened. Fragments of memory flashed through my mind—freezing water, crushing pressure, a pair of strong arms hauling me up to the muddy bank.

"You saved me?" I asked, my voice wavering.

"I did."

"Then why am I a Jane Doe?" I pointed at the glowing monitor above my bed. "Why does the news say I'm dead? Why didn't you call my family?"

"Because if I broadcasted your survival, the person who cut your brakes would just try again."

"My brakes failed," I argued. "It was a mechanical error."

Hayden crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Steel lines don't snap in half cleanly. They were severed. Someone wanted you to go over that cliff."

"And you think hiding me was the answer?" I threw my hands up in exasperation. "You made the world think I'm dead! You made Jasper think I'm dead!"

"I made everyone think you were dead to buy you time."

"He is mourning me!" I yelled, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through my ribs. "He is planning a funeral for a woman sitting in a hospital bed!"

Hayden let out a harsh, cynical laugh.

"He isn't mourning you, Mia. He's celebrating."

"Get out," I snarled, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "You're insane. Jasper loves me."

"Does he?" Hayden stepped closer, leaning over the foot of the bed. "Think about your phone call just now. What exactly did he say?"

I clamped my jaw shut.

"Did he ask where you were bleeding?" Hayden pressed. "Did he ask how you escaped a submerged vehicle?"

"He was in shock," I defended weakly.

"He asked who else knew you were alive," Hayden corrected, hitting the exact truth. "He told you not to speak to the police. Am I right?"

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I hated that Hayden knew exactly how the conversation went.

"He wants to handle it privately," I insisted.

"He wants to isolate you." Hayden circled the bed, his green eyes sharp and calculating. "If he truly thought you died, hearing your voice should have brought him to tears. Did he cry, Mia?"

I stared at the white blanket covering my legs. Jasper's tone had been flat. Annoyed. Until he realized I was alone.

"No," I whispered.

"Because he already knew you went into the water. He paid for it to happen."

"Stop it!" I covered my ears. "You don't know him! He wouldn't do this to me!"

"You're out of your mind," I spat, gripping the bedsheets. "Jasper and I have been together for three years. He just bought us a house."

"He put a down payment on a house using your credit," Hayden corrected smoothly. "His own assets are frozen."

I glared at him. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I do my homework. Your perfect fiancé owes two million dollars to a sports betting syndicate in Vegas."

"That's a lie," I fired back. "He makes eight million a year on his contract."

"And he spends twelve." Hayden leaned closer. "He needed cash, Mia. Fast. And your trust fund pays out upon marriage, or in the tragic event of your untimely death, it defaults to your next of kin."

My stomach twisted into a violent knot.

"Which, thanks to the paperwork you signed last week, is him," Hayden finished.

I had signed those papers. Jasper said it was just standard procedure for our joint estate planning.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "He wouldn't hurt me for money."

"People kill for a lot less than your net worth," Hayden stated coldly. "I blocked the news of your survival to keep a target off your back. If the world thinks you died in that river, Jasper stops looking for you."

"But I just called him!" I yelled, frustration boiling over. "I literally just told him I was alive!"

Hayden's jaw tightened. "Which is exactly why we have less than five minutes before this hospital room becomes a crime scene."

He checked a heavy silver watch on his wrist.

"We are out of time," he announced, his demeanor shifting instantly from argumentative to tactical. "Jasper isn't driving here to hug you. He sent a professional."

"You're paranoid."

"I'm alive," he shot back. "And if you want to stay that way, you need to get out of that bed."

He grabbed a black duffel bag from the floor. He unzipped it and tossed a pair of dark sweatpants and a hoodie onto my lap.

"Put these on," he ordered.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I refused.

"Fine." Hayden walked over to the door and unlocked it. He pulled the handle open an inch. "Listen."

I strained my ears.

Over the hum of the hospital ventilation, I heard heavy footsteps marching down the hallway.

"Excuse me, sir, you can't be back here," a nurse's voice echoed from outside.

"I'm looking for Jane Doe," a deep, unfamiliar man's voice replied. It definitely wasn't Jasper.

"She is resting. You need to check in at the front desk."

"I'm her fiancé's security. I'm going in."

My stomach dropped into my shoes. Jasper didn't have personal security.

Hayden quietly clicked the door shut and locked the deadbolt. He turned to face me.

"Still think I'm paranoid?" he asked softly.

I grabbed the sweatpants. Pain tore through my collarbone as I shoved my legs into the fabric. I didn't care. Adrenaline flooded my veins, masking the agony.

Hayden helped me pull the hoodie over my head. His hands were efficient, completely impersonal.

"Who are you really?" I asked, my voice trembling as I tied the drawstrings.

"Someone who hates Jasper Crawford almost as much as you are about to," Hayden replied.

The door handle rattled violently.

"Open up!" the man outside barked. A heavy fist pounded against the wood.

Hayden grabbed my uninjured arm. He pulled me toward the adjoining bathroom.

"There's a maintenance shaft behind the mirror," he whispered, pushing me inside the tiled room. "Move fast, and do not make a sound."

The wooden door to my hospital room splintered with a deafening crack.