Phoebe's POV
I straightened up and locked eyes with Harold. "So what's it gonna be? You in or not? I've got other places to be."
His eyes narrowed as he weighed his options. "How certain are you about this?"
I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and glanced down at Mitchell's still form. "One pill, some needle work, and he'll be conscious within the hour. Keep up the treatment twice daily, and he'll be walking around in a week."
The words rolled off my tongue with complete certainty—no hesitation, no doubt.
Mitchell had been deteriorating for years. Every renowned physician in Coralia had taken their shot and failed miserably. The best they could manage was slowing his decline.
Unless someone could miraculously locate the elusive Buck, Mitchell's time was running out fast.
But Buck had practically disappeared from existence. Harold had already blown through millions trying to track him down—all for nothing.
Some people figured Buck was dead. Word was his only apprentice had stepped up to fill the void, but that person was even more impossible to find.
Only a select few had ever laid eyes on Buck's student. Nobody even knew if they were dealing with a man or woman.
That's why, with Mitchell sliding into yet another coma, Harold had been forced to gamble on sketchy experimental drugs from the Dark Net.
They could keep burning cash searching for Buck, but Mitchell couldn't afford to wait.
Harold's expression shifted. The initial curiosity was still there, but now it carried a edge of doubt and suspicion. "Awake in an hour? Completely healed in a week?"
Before I could respond, several Bailey family members erupted in laughter. "Do you have any clue where you are, Miss?" one of them sneered. "This isn't some back-alley clinic where you can spout whatever nonsense you want."
"Right, awake in an hour, cured in a week—who exactly are you trying to con?" another one added.
"Even Coralia's top specialists wouldn't dare make those claims. Someone escort this joke out of here," a third voice called out.
More voices piled on. They sized me up from head to toe, already writing me off as a nobody. They'd caught wind that I'd rolled up on some beaten-down motorcycle to make a delivery. My entire outfit probably cost less than one of their designer belts.
They hadn't bothered digging into who I actually was.
To them, I was just another bold girl chasing after Harold.
And in their minds, Harold would never settle for someone like me. Honestly, they probably thought they were being charitable by not having security drag me out.
The doctors didn't show the same open disdain as the Bailey relatives, but they tried reasoning with me. "Young lady, this isn't the place for reckless gambles," one warned.
"Exactly," another chimed in. "Forget about those pills—we can't even verify if they're safe. And acupuncture? You're too young to even be licensed, aren't you?"
"Mitchell isn't some test subject for your experiments. Just walk away now," someone else urged.
I didn't flinch. No panic, no defensive reactions. I didn't even spare a glance for the people tearing me apart. My attention stayed fixed on Harold—like his opinion was the only one that counted.
And Harold picked up on that. Most people would've folded under that kind of pressure by now, but I remained steady, completely unbothered by the chaos surrounding me. That alone was enough to catch his interest.
He lifted his hand, and the room fell silent immediately. Everyone expected him to show me the door.
Instead, he looked directly at me and said, "If you can get my grandfather conscious within an hour, I'll personally come thank you. What's your name?"
"Phoebe Hale," I answered smoothly.
Harold didn't fully buy the "completely healed in a week" promise, but he seemed to believe I could wake Mitchell up in an hour. That earned him some points with me.
"Harold, how can you gamble with your grandfather's life like this?" someone from the crowd shouted angrily. "I won't stand for it."
"Neither will I," another voice joined in. "Mitchell's condition is too critical. We can't just let anyone experiment on him."
Harold fixed them with an icy stare. "Since when do any of you call the shots for the Bailey family?"
That shut them up real quick.
I raised an eyebrow, getting a clearer read on the situation—Harold held serious power here.
Ignoring the hostile faces around me, I followed Harold to Mitchell's bedside.
I pulled out a small black pouch, unrolled it, and spread out my acupuncture needles. After sterilizing everything quickly, I got down to business.
My hands moved with practiced speed and precision as I positioned eight needles exactly where they needed to go. The crowd watched in stunned silence. I didn't just know acupuncture—I was clearly a master at it.
It was too late for those Bailey relatives to interfere now, so someone started timing me, eager to watch me fail when the hour passed with no results. They wanted to see Harold embarrassed.
I knew exactly what game they were playing, but I couldn't care less. Truth be told, the only reason I'd agreed to help was because Harold was easy on the eyes—and of course, out of respect for Mitchell.
After placing the needles, I took out the pill and asked Harold for water. I crushed and dissolved the medication, then carefully administered it to Mitchell. Then I dropped into a chair and pulled out my phone.
Didn't you mention having an old friend in Coralia? What was their name again? I texted.
A few minutes later, the response came through: [Mitchell Bailey, but it's been years since we last spoke.]
I read it and casually typed back: [Got it.]
Inside the room, an expectant quiet settled over us, but outside, people were getting restless. They didn't know the details of what was happening, but seeing me treat Mitchell had sent them into a frenzy.
They wanted to storm in and stop me, but Harold's right-hand man, Alistair, stood guard at the door.
All they could do was simmer in their own anxiety.
——
When Mitchell's eldest son, Declan, and his wife Rosalyn finally emerged from the room, the crowd descended on them immediately. "What's happening in there?" someone demanded. "Why is someone doing acupuncture on Mitchell?"
As the oldest, Declan had once been positioned to inherit leadership of the Bailey family—until Mitchell decided to pass control to his youngest son's branch instead. Since then, Declan had been at war with Harold and that side of the family.
So now, he didn't hold back his criticism. "Harold's completely lost his mind. He's letting some random girl take charge of Mitchell's treatment."
Rosalyn added dramatically, "She actually had the nerve to claim Mitchell would wake up in an hour and be completely cured within a week!"
"What?" someone gasped. "They're actually gambling with Mitchell's life?"
"This girl has to be running some kind of scam," another person said. "We need to call the authorities and get her removed before something terrible happens!"