Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

It was in the soft blue light of early morning that Amelia Don finally stirred.

Her fingers moved first, small, uncoordinated flexes against the hospital sheets, the kind of instinctive motion the body made as it began the long climb back from somewhere deep and distant.

Then her brow furrowed, then her shoulders shifted ever so slightly.

The Vanguard guards, who had maintained their vigil in rotating shifts at her bedside for five days, came alert as one.

Emma rose from her chair first and the others followed within seconds, attention quietly converging on the bed. Nobody spoke, they didn’t want to disturb the fragile moment unfolding before them.

The medical team responded immediately; the lead physician, Dr. Park, who had personally overseen Amelia’s treatment since the elite protocol was activated, was beside the bed within moments. His stethoscope was already in place as his free hand moved across the bedside monitor, reviewing the readouts with the calm focus of a man who had spent days waiting for exactly this moment.

”Pulse steady. Oxygen saturation good. Pupillary response returning.”

His voice remained professionally measured.

”Neurological signs are consistent with emergence from deep sedation.”

A second physician adjusted one of the IV drips with practiced precision while a nurse stepped forward, shining a small penlight into Amelia’s eyes.

”Director Don. Can you hear me?”

Amelia’s eyelids fluttered, once, then twice.

”Director Don. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand once.”

Her fingers tightened weakly around the doctor’s hand. The pressure was faint, but unmistakable.

”Good. Very good.”

For the first time, a hint of relief slipped beneath Dr. Park’s clinical composure.

”You’re in Regina Caeli Hospital, Inksea Island. You’ve been under our care for five days. You’re safe. Your vital signs are excellent, and there is no immediate cause for concern.”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

”Take your time.”

Amelia’s eyes opened and the light hit her immediately. As a natural reaction to sudden light, they closed again almost at once. The light was too bright, and too sharp.

Her vision was blurred, and the scattered fragments of memory behind her forehead had yet to fit themselves back together.

Around her, the doctors and nurses continued their work with quiet efficiency.

The room lights were dimmed, vital readings were checked.

A brief sequence of post-sedation neurological assessments followed. There was no wasted movement and no unnecessary words.

By the fifth time Amelia opened her eyes, the haze had begun to lift. Her vision steadied. Her breathing remained even.

And for the first time in five days, she was fully awake.

Dr. Park studied the monitor for several seconds before giving a small nod of satisfaction to the head nurse.

Then he turned toward Emma.

”She’s stable.”

The words immediately eased the tension hanging over the room.

”She’ll need rest, light meals, and close observation over the next twenty-four hours, but her recovery is progressing exactly as we’d hoped.”

He glanced back at Amelia before continuing.

”We’ll give you and your team a few minutes of privacy. I’ll return shortly to explain the next stage of her recovery.”

The medical staff withdrew with the same quiet professionalism with which they had arrived.

The curtain was drawn partially closed behind them.

And for the first time since Amelia’s collapse, only the Vanguard remained at her bedside.

Amelia took in the room slowly.

The space was unfamiliar, not the interior of the unfinished building where she’d almost been raped, but a hospital. Soft, indirect lighting. Polished floors. Equipment that hummed almost inaudibly. The kind of room reserved for patients whose treatment had been paid for at a level most people didn’t realize existed.

Then she saw the faces around her bed.

Familiar faces, the female guards she hired, Emma in the center, the others gathered around her.

Amelia let out a long, shaky breath of relief. The environment was strange, but the faces were not. Whatever had happened, she had survived it, and her people were here.

She lifted a hand to her temple. Memory began returning in uneven waves.

The hotel staircase. The young man asking if she was alright. The recoil she hadn’t been able to control. The drug already taking hold of her muscles. The men. The van. The abandoned building. The rough hands binding her wrists. The voice that had casually announced what was about to happen to her.

And then the door splintering.

And the young man.

He had moved through them as if the air around them obeyed different rules. She remembered the speed. The cold, focused efficiency. The way the men who had been so confident moments earlier had ended up on the floor within seconds.

She remembered being untied. The voice that had told her, ”It’s alright now.”

She remembered the darkness that followed as she collapsed back then.

She remembered him. Her throat felt painfully dry. She swallowed once. Then again.

”Where is he?”

Her voice came out thin and hoarse, but the question was unmistakable.

Upon hearing her, Emma stepped closer to the bed.

”Director Amelia?”

”The man.” Amelia’s eyes found hers. ”The one who saved me. Where is he?”

A small ripple of recognition moved through the guards. Of course she was asking about Stan. Of course that was the first thing she wanted to know.

And beneath that recognition was an immediate, sharp discomfort, the discomfort of women who knew, with absolute clarity, what they had done at that abandoned building.

They had pointed their weapons at the man who had saved their client.

They had spoken to him as though he were the threat.

They had stood over him with raised guns and demanded to know whether he had assaulted her, while he had remained calm, unbothered, and entirely cooperative. He could have made the situation ugly. Instead, he had chosen to wait for the police and let the facts speak for themselves.

If Amelia ever learned that, if she ever learned that her own security detail had treated her rescuer like a suspect, the consequences would not be small.

Amelia had built her current position in spite of every man who had tried to take it from her. Her distrust of men ran deep, reinforced by years of experience and betrayal. The only man she had encountered in years who had not confirmed that view was the one currently absent from the room.

If she discovered that her guards had treated him with hostility, if she discovered that the women she paid to protect her had pointed guns at the only good man she believed existed, Emma had no doubt the consequences would extend well beyond their individual careers.

Amelia was a shareholder of Warner Bros.

The Vanguard Protection Group was a respected international firm, but it was not Warner Bros.

The gap in leverage was not remotely close.

Emma chose her words with deliberate care.

”He’s gone, Director. After he saved you, he called the police himself. He called the ambulance. The men who kidnapped you were all apprehended, Inksea police caught them using the information he provided. He stayed at the scene long enough to make sure everything was handled properly, and then he left.”

Saying this, she paused, studying Amelia’s face.