The last thing Angela remembered was pain—blinding, searing pain that had gripped her chest like a vice. And then, darkness. An oppressive, all-consuming darkness that felt eternal. Now, as her eyes fluttered open, the world came back in fragments—dim light, muted sounds, the distant hum of a machine.
Her body felt heavy, as though it had been weighed down by weeks of exhaustion. Blinking slowly, she realized she was in a hospital room. The smell of antiseptic was sharp in the air, mingling with the faint scent of fresh snow wafting through a small gap in the window. The room itself was bare, save for the standard-issue medical equipment and a solitary chair by her bedside. On it lay a neatly folded coat, but it wasn't hers.
She pushed herself up gingerly, her hands trembling as she reached for the IV drip connected to her wrist. The needle tugged slightly as she pulled it free, a sharp sting against her pale skin. A monitor beeped erratically for a moment before falling silent, and for a fleeting second, Angela felt a pang of guilt—as if she was disturbing some unseen order.
Her eyes wandered to the window. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, blanketing the world outside in a pristine white. The sight was oddly calming, but it only deepened the ache inside her. She stumbled toward the window, her bare feet cold against the tiled floor. The glass was icy to the touch as she pressed her palm against it, her breath fogging up the surface.
"Three weeks," she murmured to herself, the nurse's words replaying in her mind. Three weeks of her life—gone. Erased. She couldn't remember how she'd ended up here, or why. Her reflection stared back at her from the frosted pane—a stranger with hollow cheeks, unkempt hair, and eyes that carried the weight of something she couldn't yet name.
The door creaked open behind her, breaking the silence. Angela turned abruptly, her heart pounding. A nurse stepped in, her face kind yet cautious, as though approaching a frightened animal.
"Ma'am, you're awake," the nurse said softly, her hands clasped in front of her. "You really shouldn't be up. Your condition is still delicate."
Angela frowned. "What happened to me? Why am I here?"
The nurse hesitated, her expression clouded with something Angela couldn't quite place—pity, perhaps, or guilt. "You had a heart attack. A severe one. The doctors said it was brought on by stress… and, well, there was some serious damage to your heart. You're lucky to be alive."
A heart attack? Angela's brows furrowed in disbelief. She was too young for something like this. "But how…?" Her voice trailed off as a new thought struck her. "Who brought me here?"
The nurse hesitated again, her gaze dropping to the floor. "A man and the famous drama Queen Lilian Vaughn," she said finally. "for the man he didn't give his name. They brought you in late at night and stayed just long enough to make sure you were stable. Then they left."
Angela's chest tightened, but not from the lingering effects of her condition. "What did he look like?" she pressed. "Did he say anything else?"
The nurse shook her head. "Tall, dark hair, well-dressed. He seemed... worried, but distant. Like he was carrying his own burdens. He didn't say much, only that you needed immediate care."
Angela's mind raced, she couldn't remember anyone who could fit that description. And why would Lilian be with a stranger to save her.
Angela barely registered the words, before a thought hit her hard. Brad of course it was only him wordy to be by Lillian side .Brad and Lillian Vaughn. Elite. Powerful. Their faces began to surface in her mind—faint but clear enough to confirm her suspicions. They weren't strangers; they were part of the world she'd once been a part of. But why would they care enough to save her?
"Why didn't they stay?" she asked quietly, more to herself than to the nurse.
The nurse gave a gentle shrug. "Perhaps they had their reasons. But they made sure you'd get the best care. It's not often you see that kind of kindness from people in their position."
Kindness? Angela doubted that. The Vaughns weren't known for altruism. Whatever their motive, it wasn't pure.
"How long have I been here?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Two weeks," the nurse replied gently. "You were unconscious for most of it. The first few days were critical, but you pulled through. It's a miracle, really."
A Christmas miracle. The words surfaced unbidden, and Angela let out a bitter laugh. Miracles didn't exist—not for her.
The nurse stepped closer, her tone turning motherly. "You should rest, ma'am. Your body's been through a lot."
Angela nodded absently, but her gaze returned to the snow outside. Rest wouldn't bring her answers. Somewhere out there, why the Vaughn decided to save her held a piece of the puzzle, and Angela was determined to find it.
As the nurse left the room, Angela leaned her forehead against the cold glass. The snow continued to fall, each flake a reminder of how fleeting and fragile life could be. But beneath the fragility, a new resolve stirred within her. Whoever saved her, he had given her a second chance—a chance she intended to use.
Later that evening
The hospital room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the muffled sound of snowflakes tapping against the window. Angela had been staring out at the snowfall, her thoughts drifting between the past and the present, when the sharp click of heels broke her reverie.
Her heart sank before she even turned. There was only one person who would make such an entrance, uninvited and unwelcome.
"Angela!" Lillian's saccharine voice filled the room as the door swung open. She walked in as if she owned the place, her pristine white coat draped over her shoulders and her glossy curls bouncing with each step. Behind her was Brad, silent and stoic, his hands shoved into his pockets.
Angela's grip tightened on the windowsill. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be her?
"Lillian," Angela said, her voice cold. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Angie," Lillian cooed, stepping closer. Her wide, doe-like eyes were filled with mock concern. "We heard you were hospitalized, and I just couldn't stay away. I've been so worried about you."
Angela didn't buy the act for a second. Lillian's idea of "concern" was more about appearances than genuine care. She crossed her arms, her expression hard. "Worried about me? That's new."
Lillian pouted, her lips painted a festive red. "Don't be like that. We're sisters, after all."
Angela's jaw clenched. Sisters. The word tasted bitter on her tongue. Lillian might have been her step-sister by law, but she had never acted like family. Not when she wormed her way into their father's affections, not when she lied and schemed her way into Angela's inheritance, and certainly not now.
Brad stepped forward, breaking the tension. "We're here for another reason, Angela," he said, his tone neutral.
Angela's eyes flicked to him. His presence only made the situation worse. She had known Brad for years, back when he was just another face at the elite gatherings her family hosted. She had even entertained the idea of something more with him once. That was before Lillian sank her claws into him.
"Another reason?" Angela asked, her voice sharp.
Lillian clasped her hands together, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "Oh, Angie, we have the most wonderful news! Brad and I are getting married!"
The words hit Angela like a slap to the face. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"And," Lillian continued, clearly reveling in Angela's silence, "we're hosting our engagement party on Christmas Eve. The wedding will be on Christmas Day. Isn't it romantic?"
Angela forced herself to breathe. Romantic? It was cruel. Lillian knew exactly what she was doing, rubbing salt into old wounds. Angela's fingers dug into the windowsill as she turned to face them.
"And you want me there?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.
"Of course!" Lillian chirped. "You're my sister. I wouldn't feel right if you weren't there."
Angela almost laughed at the audacity. "You must be joking."
Lillian's expression faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, her eyes glistening as if she were about to cry. "Why are you being so mean to me? I came here out of love, Angela. I've always looked up to you, and now you're treating me like this?"
Angela stared at her, unimpressed. Lillian had perfected the art of playing the victim, and Brad, ever the dutiful fiancé, stood by her side like a loyal guard dog.
"I think you should leave," Angela said flatly.
"But—" Lillian began, her voice trembling.
"I said leave." Angela's tone was sharp, final.
Brad placed a hand on Lillian's arm. "Let's go," he said quietly, his eyes meeting Angela's for a brief moment. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something that made Angela's stomach twist.
Lillian huffed but allowed herself to be led toward the door. Before leaving, she turned back to Angela, her voice soft and full of false sweetness. "I really do hope you'll come, Angie. It wouldn't be the same without you."
The door clicked shut, and Angela was left alone once more. She let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening with anger and frustration. Lillian's visit had stirred a fire in her, one she thought she had extinguished.
As the snow continued to fall outside, Angela's mind raced. This wasn't just a wedding—it was a power play. Lillian wanted to parade her victory, to show Angela how far she had fallen.
But Angela wasn't about to let her win. After all it is 24days to Christmas, the countdown has just begun.
And oh dear, Angela plans to make this 24 days decide the bloody Oasis future she planned to set up for the beautiful scum bag couples.
This Christmas, the tables were going to turn.