"Where are we?" Emily asked softly, her voice still fragile from two weeks of intensive care—monitors beeping through nights of fevered delirium, IVs flushing toxins that had ravaged her organs, warding off infections that clawed her milky white skin raw.
Now discharged, she sat in a sleek wheelchair, pale blue sundress draping loose over her body, emerald eyes wide as they took in the sprawling mansion—marble foyer gleaming under chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows framing manicured gardens.
Ivory smiled warm, her frame relaxed in a crisp blouse and pants, chili pheromones blooming soothing. "This is the house I bought for you. Huge, right? Perfect for recovery."
"What?!" Emily's full lips parted shock, wheelchair creaking as Hellen wheeled her forward gentle over polished floors.
