In the private ward, everything was quiet.
Angie had no other major injuries—just a bullet wound that came this close to being fatal. The bullet had struck her near the chest, just a few centimeters from her heart. Thankfully, the surgeons had acted quickly and removed it. No organs were damaged. No lasting danger.
She had been moved from the ICU to one of the advanced care suites—not because her case required it, but because Bella had paid for the upgrade out of pocket.
In a capitalist country, money always talks. Bella wasn't filthy rich, but she didn't hesitate to spend when it mattered.
This was Angie.
The high-end suite boasted round-the-clock care—four specialized doctors, eight full-time nurses, and state-of-the-art medical equipment on standby. It was the kind of place that felt more like a hotel than a hospital.
Of course, that comfort came at a steep price: 150,000 M-gold per day.
At that rate, Bella's bank account would bleed out in about ten days. But she had no intention of footing the bill long term. The brat who caused this would pay for it—or his family would. Whether they went bankrupt in the process? Not Bella's problem.
Inside the room, Angie lay on the hospital bed, pale and bandaged but awake, breathing through a mask. She turned her head slightly, looking at Bella with a sheepish grin.
"You know," she murmured, "this isn't all bad. I finally get to enjoy the rich-lady life. No exams. No school fees. I think I might start liking hospitals."
Bella sat beside her, peeling an apple with surgical precision. She rolled her eyes. "You're really something. You get shot and still manage to sound like this is a spa day."
Angie giggled weakly. "Come on. I almost met God. Can't you cut me some slack?"
Bella gave her a long look but didn't respond. That humor—so casual, so Angie—was more reassuring than any doctor's chart. There was no trauma in her eyes, no fear.
Just stubborn resilience.
Still, something nagged at Bella's mind.
"You know," she said slowly, "I think you might be cursed."
Angie blinked. "Huh?"
Bella raised an eyebrow. "Think about it. This kind of stuff happens to you way too often."
It was true.
Back in Fox Town, Angie's luck was already questionable. Bella could still recall the time Angie had tripped over nothing and cracked her phone screen on the sidewalk. Or the time she got hit in the face by a rogue basketball. Or when her car had a tire blowout—twice in one month.
She was a magnet for bad luck.
The worst was that time after final exams when a runaway Ford came out of nowhere. If Edward and Bella hadn't stepped in, Angie would've been roadkill.
And now? She comes to New York and immediately gets involved in the Hulk incident during college orientation. Almost flattened by a green rage monster.
Now she gets shot.
It was uncanny. Statistically absurd.
Bella peeled another slice off the apple, chewing slowly as she stared at her best friend like she was some unsolvable metaphysical riddle.
"Maybe a god somewhere just really doesn't like you," she said finally. "Or you're some kind of cosmic magnet for danger."
Angie pouted. "That's mean."
"I'm not saying you're unlucky," Bella replied. "I'm saying you're cursed."
Angie looked genuinely offended—then thoughtful.
"...I mean, I did once get hit by bird poop right after being hit by a falling bag of groceries."
Bella nodded sagely. "That tracks."
There were three types of people in this world: the blessed, the average, and the cursed.
Some people seemed to coast through life with perfect luck—winning lotteries, dating supermodels, walking away from car crashes without a scratch. Natural-born winners.
Others lived lives of balance—good days, bad days. The usual.
And then there were broom stars.
People like Angie.
If anything bad could happen, it would happen to her. If there was a one-in-a-million chance of disaster, Angie would hit the jackpot.
Bella shook her head.
"I need to get you something for protection," she muttered. "Maybe a rune pendant, or a talisman. Or something enchanted. You're a walking disaster magnet."
Angie just looked at her with big, puppy-dog eyes, the breathing mask puffing slightly with every breath. "Sooo… does this mean I can't have any apple?"
Bella smirked and took a loud, crunchy bite out of the apple she'd just peeled. "What do you think?"
Angie gave a dramatic sigh, eyes brimming with fake tears. "Cruel. Cold-blooded. Unbelievable."
After a few more minutes of teasing and small talk, Angie began to fade, her eyelids fluttering. Recovery was catching up to her.
Bella gently placed the apple on the table, leaned over, and took Angie's hand—still attached to a fluid drip—and spoke softly.
"Alright. Rest. You're safe."
Angie nodded groggily. "Mmm… you should go. The doctors…"
"I'll wait until you're asleep."
"Mmkay…"
Within moments, Angie slipped into a peaceful sleep.
Bella closed her eyes and allowed a faint flow of golden magic to pass through her hand. Angie's complexion brightened slightly as warmth filled her body. Healing magic, subtle and calming.
Good, Bella thought. That should help.
Boom. Boom.
Later that night, Bella's Camaro rumbled through the mostly deserted streets of Manhattan. It was nearly 10 PM. Streetlights cast long shadows. The city, though quieter than usual, still hummed with low energy.
Bella was alone in the car, a laptop propped open in the passenger seat. The screen was filled with code—lines of custom scripts written to infiltrate police servers.
"Have they caught them yet?" she asked over the speakerphone.
"No," came George's voice. "By the time we arrived, they'd already fled. We've got partial surveillance footage, but…"
"Got it."
She hung up before he could say more.
It wasn't George's fault. She knew that.
But she also didn't trust bureaucracy to bring these people to justice.
While she drove, her laptop ran a script she'd personally written. Bella had majored in computer science for a reason. Hacking into the NYPD's database wasn't even a challenge anymore. They really needed to update their encryption.
George hadn't shared the information with her directly.
But that didn't mean she couldn't find it herself.
Bella's fingers tapped the keyboard with machine-like speed as her car weaved through traffic like a ghost.
Someone had put Angie in the hospital.
And Bella was going to find them.
___________________________________
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31