A Substitute No More, A Queen Returns

Bailey Douglas POV:

Their world had narrowed to a single point: Haleigh.

"Are you okay?" Jameson's voice was frantic as he checked her over.

"My hand! I think it's burned!" she cried, holding up her perfectly manicured hand, where a tiny red spot, no bigger than a freckle, was beginning to form.

"Get the first aid kit!" Derrick roared.

"Someone call the ship's doctor!" Kane bellowed.

They were a whirlwind of panicked activity, all for a nearly invisible mark. Meanwhile, my dress was a pyre, the flames greedily climbing toward my waist, the smell of burning fabric and flesh filling the air.

My screams turned to choked sobs of agony and despair. They couldn't hear me. Or they wouldn't.

Then, a new figure burst through the chaos. A young crewman with wide, horrified eyes. He didn't hesitate. He ripped off his jacket and threw himself on top of me, smothering the flames with his own body.

"Miss! Miss, stay with me!" he shouted, his face inches from mine, his expression a mask of terror.

Through a haze of pain, I saw them. Jameson and my brothers, carefully escorting a weeping Haleigh off the deck, their backs turned to me. Not one of them looked back. Not one of them spared a single glance for the sister, the fiancée, they were leaving behind.

By the time the crewman and the ship's doctor got me back to my cabin, I was barely conscious. My legs were a mess of raw, weeping burns. The doctor worked quickly, his face grim. He gave me a shot of morphine, and the world began to blur at the edges.

He left to retrieve more supplies, leaving me alone in the silent cabin.

My hand, the one the spider had bitten, fumbled in the pocket of my ruined dress. My fingers closed around my phone. It was a cheap burner phone I' d bought weeks ago. It vibrated. A text message.

With trembling fingers, I opened it. It was from Mr. Abernathy's office.

All documents have been finalized and filed under your new name. The island is officially yours. Final transport arrangements are confirmed for tomorrow at dawn.

A sudden, fierce will to live surged through me. I typed a reply, my fingers clumsy and stiff. PROCEED. CONFIRMED.

"Who are you texting?"

Jameson's voice, cold and sharp, cut through the morphine haze. He was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face a mask of suspicion.

I quickly shut off the phone and tried to hide it under my pillow.

He saw the movement. His eyes narrowed. "What are you hiding, Bailey?"

He strode into the room, but as he got closer, his eyes fell on my legs. The doctor had cut away the burned fabric, leaving the horrific injuries exposed. The raw skin, blistered and oozing, was a sight from a nightmare.

Jameson stopped dead. The color drained from his face. "My God," he whispered. "Bailey... why didn't you scream? Why didn't you say anything?"

A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. "I did scream, Jameson. You just weren't listening."

I saw a flash of genuine horror in his eyes, a flicker of the man I thought I knew. He rushed to my side, his voice laced with a panicky concern that felt five years too late. "The doctor is coming back. We'll get you the best care."

He sat on the edge of my bed, his hand hovering over my hair as if he wanted to soothe me but didn't dare. "Haleigh is resting. The brothers are with her. I'll stay here with you."

I just looked at him, my heart a dead, hollow thing in my chest. This tenderness, this concern... what was it worth now? He was Haleigh's husband. He had made his choice, over and over again. We were nothing.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. The burns on my legs were nothing. The real pain, the one that had been eating me alive, was a wound he could never see and would never understand.

The doctor returned, and Jameson watched, his face pale and grim, as my wounds were cleaned and dressed. It was an agony I bore in silence. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of my tears.

Just as the doctor was finishing, Haleigh's syrupy voice drifted in from the deck. "Jameson! Darling! The dolphins are back! You have to come see them!"

Jameson hesitated. For a single, breathtaking moment, I thought he might stay.

But then he stood up. He looked at me, his eyes full of a conflict I no longer cared to decipher. "Come on," he said, gently helping me to my feet. "You should see them too."

He settled me onto a cushioned lounge chair on the deck, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. The sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and gold. A pod of dolphins leaped and danced in the glittering water, their sleek bodies catching the last rays of light. It was beautiful. And it was a lie.

Haleigh stood at the railing, flanked by my brothers, her hands clasped together in front of her chest like a saint in a painting. "Oh, they're so beautiful," she sighed. "Let's all make a wish."

Jameson and my brothers closed their eyes, their faces earnest and full of hope. I knew what they were wishing for. For Haleigh to be cured. For her to live. For their precious, perfect Haleigh to be saved.

I looked at their devoted faces, and a cold, clear certainty settled over me. I closed my eyes too.

"What did you wish for, Bailey?" Haleigh asked, turning to me with a cloyingly sweet smile after a moment. Everyone looked at me, waiting.

I opened my eyes and met her gaze. I let the silence hang in the air, heavy and meaningful. Then, I smiled, a real smile this time, full of a strange, liberating peace.

"I wished," I said, my voice clear and steady, each word a stone dropping into a deep, silent well, "that I would never, ever have to see any of you again."