Danae’s POV
“Mom?
What’s happened?”
Sobs broke her answer into pieces.
I strained to understand, but then the voice on the line changed.
My brother Dorian had taken the phone.
“It’s Dad, Dana.
The tumor’s bigger.
They say it’s pressing against his brainstem.”
For a second, the room seemed to lean sideways.
Six months.
That was how long it had been since the diagnosis of a brainstem glioma.
The doctors had talked about medication, about managing it.
They had sounded hopeful enough for us to believe them.
“How serious?” My voice scarcely made it out.
Dorian’s reply sounded as strained as I felt.
“He needs high-precision neurosurgery.
They don’t have the equipment here, or a team experienced enough to do it.
The hospital’s trying to refer him to a specialist center, but the list is months long.”
Months.
The word stayed with me after the call ended.
Eirwen held out a tissue.
Only then did I realize my face was wet.
“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.
I tried to put numbers together, to make a plan out of the wreckage.
“Most of my savings went into the wedding.
And the bar that night…”
I stopped.
Expensive cocktails, ordered as though drowning Galen’s betrayal could justify spending money I no longer had.
Remembering them now made me feel ill.
“I need work.
Immediately.
Dad’s getting worse every day.
He can’t sit on a waiting list for months.”
Sleep came in scraps, if at all. The source of this chapter is g.com.
By dawn, I was back on my phone, scrolling vacancies and calculating wages against the cost of an operation.
Months of saving would cover only a fraction.
Perhaps years.
Every figure led to the same impossible answer.
Then a name surfaced.
Caspian Jorah.
I knew one man with enough money to make those calculations meaningless.
The idea of approaching him knotted my stomach, especially after last night.
But pride had become something I couldn’t afford to put ahead of Dad.
I got up and searched Eirwen’s closet.
A navy pencil skirt and cream blouse would do: professional, though fitted enough to show my figure.
I borrowed them and worked a little makeup over the evidence of my sleepless night.
“Where are you off to?” Eirwen stood in her bedroom doorway, still drowsy.
“It’s so early.”
“Looking for a job.” I kept my attention on my makeup.
“He’s the only person I can think of who has enough money to help right now.”
An hour later, I stood beneath the gleaming surfaces of the Jorah Enterprises lobby, his business card held tightly in my hand.
I drew a breath, crossed to reception, and showed the card.
“I’d like to see Mr.
Jorah.
He gave me this.”
The receptionist looked me over without warmth.
“Are you expected?
His appointments are full for the day.”
My confidence dropped straight through me.
I couldn’t come this far and turn around.
I reached for the one thing I thought might open the door.
“Please tell him Danae Ashgrave has information he needs to hear.
It’s about Galen Bryneholm breaking Ashmoon rules.”
Her eyes widened.
She lifted the phone almost at once and spoke too softly for me to catch the words.
When she addressed me again, the cool dismissal was gone.
“One moment, Miss Ashgrave.
Please wait.”
I waited with regret already gathering beneath my ribs.
That was a dangerous claim to use simply to gain an audience.
But I had needed to see him, and now at least someone was asking. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
When I was finally shown into Caspian’s office, his blue eyes settled on me immediately.
He leaned back in his chair.
“Tell me about Galen, then.
Which rules has he broken?
Or have you invented another little trick to get what you want?”
My cheeks heated.
“I’m sorry.
I needed to speak to you, and they wouldn’t let me come up.
I didn’t know how else to get in.”
His brow lifted.
“The card has my direct number.
You could have used it.”
I explained about Dad.
The tumor.
The surgery.
I held my voice steady by concentrating on the words, one after another, rather than the fear underneath them.
“If there’s a vacancy, I’ll take it.
Reception, an assistant’s position—anything you have.”
“Jobs are limited, Miss Ashgrave.
Why should I give one to a human when someone in my pack needs it?”
I couldn’t tell from his expression whether the question was a test or a refusal.
Tears pushed at my eyes.
I held them back.
“If there were another choice, I wouldn’t be here asking you.” My voice caught despite my effort.
“His tumor is growing day by day.
The surgery he needs costs more than my family could ever raise.
I didn’t come because I wanted to, Mr.
Jorah.
I came because I’m desperate.”
He leaned forward, studying my face with an intensity that made every small crack in my composure feel visible.
“Desperate,” he repeated, as though considering the word itself.
His eyes stayed on mine.
“Why should that matter to me?
After refusing me last night and walking away, what makes you think I owe you help now, Miss Ashgrave?”