Phoebe's POV
"So what am I supposed to do?" Buck's voice had lost some of its edge. "I don't have many old friends left, and who knows how much time I've got. You can't let me die with regrets."
"Guilt-tripping me won't get you anywhere," I replied coldly. "You do remember people are still hunting you down on the Dark Net, right? There are hitmen after your head. You really wanna test how fast they can find you, huh?"
Buck let out a heavy sigh, completely deflated. "How sure are you that you can help?"
My eyes lit up with mischief. "About fifty-fifty. I don't have the good stuff with me right now, you know."
Buck jumped on that immediately. "What do you need? Just make a list. I'll send it all over."
"Don't regret saying that." I couldn't help grinning as I fired off a massive list detailing over a thousand rare and expensive medicinal herbs.
Buck went silent, staring at the list. When he finally spoke, his voice shook. "Phoebe, can we talk? Maybe cut back on a few of these, okay? I'm down to my last few rare herbs as well, you know."
I shrugged casually. "Sure, but I'll have to skip a couple of treatments for him. And as for how effective that'll be—"
"Fine, fine! I'll get everything," Buck groaned, like I'd just mugged him in broad daylight.
His years of carefully collected herbs were about to disappear, just like that.
I felt pretty satisfied. "Good. Once I've got the herbs, Mitchell will start getting better. I'll wait for your delivery. Good night."
I hung up before Buck could start yelling at me.
The entire world was still searching for Buck, but nobody had figured out he'd been hiding on an island in North Valdoria for over a decade, staying one step ahead of assassins.
My mood darkened slightly. When I became Buck's student, I discovered that the same people hunting him had also played a role in my mother's disappearance.
To keep him safe—and myself—I helped Buck disappear completely. Since then, Buck had stayed completely off the radar.
Pretty pleased about securing those herbs, I closed my laptop and prepared for bed.
I'd been pulling back-to-back difficult jobs to get ready for this homecoming. A decent night's sleep was long overdue.
I fell asleep quickly, completely missing the text that illuminated my phone screen.
[I'll send someone to pick you up at 2 PM tomorrow. We'll meet at Bailey Mansion.]
When I woke up at 6 AM the next morning and spotted Harold's message, I just texted back a simple "Okay."
I wasn't remotely surprised he knew my address. If Harold couldn't even locate me, the Bailey family would've been devoured by their enemies years ago.
I got up, cleaned up, slipped into workout gear, and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I headed downstairs for my morning jog.
The house remained quiet. Only the staff were bustling around. I jogged out onto the tree-lined streets of the upscale neighborhood.
I didn't bother acknowledging any of the neighbors I encountered. I wasn't planning to stick around here long anyway. My plan was to find my own place near Clearwater University soon.
I always went for a run when I wasn't working. I maintained a steady rhythm, covering 6 miles in just 40 minutes.
Out of habit, I never wore headphones because I preferred staying alert. It helped me monitor my surroundings and detect trouble before it got too close.
On my third lap, I spotted someone following me.
My eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam flickering in them.
I didn't pick up the pace or slow down. Instead, I casually altered my route, drawing the follower into the wooded trail. They fell for it and trailed me in.
A few minutes later, I emerged from the woods like nothing had occurred. Not even a single hair was out of place.
I brushed off my hands—more from habit than necessity—and continued running. I completed the full 6 miles and returned home with a slight smile playing at the corner of my mouth.
Everything appeared normal—except for the unconscious man with contorted limbs now sprawled deep in the woods.
By the time I returned home, the Hale family was already awake and eating. Sergio sat at the table, scanning the newspaper while chewing his food.
Nathalia sat next to him, looking as elegant and refined as always.
Across from them sat Atticus and Patty. It all appeared picture-perfect—four people having breakfast, laughing, playing the perfect family.
But whatever they were discussing left me deeply annoyed.
"Dad, why isn't Phoebe up yet?" Patty said with a smug expression. "If she sleeps in like this after transferring schools, she's gonna be late all the time."
Atticus snorted. "She was always skipping class or picking fights when she was abroad. You really think she'll wake up early now, huh?"
"Hey, don't talk about Phoebe like that. She just got back. Maybe she's still jet-lagged," Nathalia chimed in, sounding sweet but obviously fake. "Besides, the Lorenzo family probably didn't teach her properly. But don't worry. I'll help her adjust and teach her how to act like a real lady."
Sergio grunted, not glancing up from his paper. "Tell Linsey to wake her up for breakfast," he said. "If she can't even get out of bed, what makes her think she'll ever get into Clearwater University?"
None of them noticed me standing quietly in the doorway, arms folded, listening to every single word.
Nathalia turned to the maid. "Linsey, go wake Phoebe. She can go back to bed after she eats."
Linsey glanced at me, still leaning against the doorway, smirking like I'd just witnessed something amusing. Then she looked at Nathalia, who was smiling sweetly but clearly seething inside. She hesitated.
Nathalia frowned. "Why are you just standing there? Go!"
Linsey pointed toward the doorway. "Phoebe's been up since six. She just got back from her morning run."
All four turned to look—and froze. I stood there, calm and detached, arms still crossed. Nobody knew how long I'd been standing there or how much I'd overheard.
But from the smug, untouchable expression on my face, they probably figured it was everything.
Sergio cleared his throat and forced a smile. "Phoebe, go get changed so you don't catch a cold. We were just waiting for you to eat breakfast together."
It sounded nice, but their half-empty plates told a different story.
I raised an eyebrow and gave them a crooked smile—sharp, sarcastic, and a little cruel. "No, thanks. I don't eat with trash. It ruins my appetite."
Without another word, I turned and headed upstairs, not bothering to look back at their shocked faces.