Dying In Silence: The Unwanted Heiress

Kaia sat on the cold leather sofa. Her eyes were locked on the piece of paper resting on the mahogany desk. The logo of the Manhattan Medical Center was printed at the top, but her focus was on the heavy black ink at the bottom of the page.

Dr. Finch pushed open the frosted glass door. He walked in, his face tight, and sat in the swivel chair across from her.

He slid the biopsy report across the desk. He pointed a pen at the final line.

"Late-stage malignant tumor," Dr. Finch said. His voice was low, heavy in the quiet room.

Kaia's lungs stopped working. She tried to inhale, but her chest remained completely still. Her fingers reached out, stiff and uncoordinated. She flipped the page. The tips of her fingers turned completely white from how hard she pressed them against the paper.

"The cancer cells have metastasized to your bones," Dr. Finch continued. "Based on the aggressive nature of the spread, your life expectancy is approximately three months."

Kaia forced the corners of her mouth upward. She tried to form a polite smile to hide the violent trembling in her hands, but her lower lip twitched uncontrollably.

She took a sharp, jagged breath. "Are there any targeted drugs? Something that could give me half a year?"

Dr. Finch shook his head. "I am sorry, Kaia. I highly recommend you contact your lawyer to arrange a trust fund and look into hospice care."

Kaia stared at him for three seconds. She picked up the report. Her movements were robotic, jerky. She folded the thick paper twice and shoved it deep into the bottom zipper compartment of her Hermes Birkin bag.

She stood up. "Thank you, Doctor."

The moment her weight shifted to her feet, her knees buckled. The strength vanished from her legs, and she swayed toward the Persian rug.

Dr. Finch shot out of his chair. He grabbed her forearm to steady her. His eyes were full of raw, unfiltered pity.

Kaia felt her stomach churn at the sight of that pity. She pulled her arm out of his grip. She forced her spine completely straight, locking her shoulders into place. She was a Woodward. She would not collapse in a clinic.

She walked out the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The freezing early winter wind of Manhattan slammed into her, filling her khaki trench coat and chilling her skin until goosebumps erupted on her arms.

Kaia walked to the curb on her seven-inch heels. A black Maybach pulled up. The bodyguard opened the rear door, and she slid into the leather seat.

"Back to the penthouse, Mrs. Downs?" the driver asked, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

Kaia stared at the blurry taillights in the traffic. "No. Take me to the Downs Plaza Hotel."

The interior of the car was dead silent. She opened her bag and pulled out a compact mirror. She turned on the reading light. The face staring back at her was the color of chalk.

She grabbed a tube of concealer. She applied thick layers under her eyes, pressing hard into her skin to cover the dark, bruised-looking circles. She finished by dragging a tube of aggressive, bright red lipstick across her lips.

The Maybach slowed to a halt in front of the hotel's red carpet. Camera flashes exploded against the tinted windows, a rapid, blinding strobe light.

The bodyguard opened the door. Kaia pasted a flawless, practiced smile on her face and stepped out into the freezing air.

She walked through the revolving doors and entered the massive, gold-plated banquet hall. The Downs Group anniversary gala was deafening. She scanned the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, searching for him.

She found Gerrit Downs standing near a towering champagne pyramid. He was surrounded by Wall Street executives.

He wore a custom Armani suit. His jaw was clenched tight. He was looking down at his phone screen. Kaia caught a glimpse of the text message. It was from Seraphina.

Kaia walked up to him. "Gerrit," she said softly. She reached out her hand, aiming to loop her arm through his to present a united front to the cameras.

Gerrit stepped back. It was a fast, reflexive movement. He avoided her touch completely. His eyebrows slammed together, and his eyes darkened with intense irritation.

The executives around them stopped talking. They exchanged glances. The women nearby whispered, their eyes full of mockery as they stared at the trophy wife being publicly rejected.

Gerrit leaned in. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Do not play these pathetic attention-seeking games in public."

A violent cramp ripped through Kaia's stomach. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to double over. "Gerrit, please. I have something very important to tell you tonight."

Gerrit let out a harsh, cold laugh. "What is it this time? Are you going to use the Woodward family's board seats to threaten me into coming home?"

He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned his back on her and walked straight toward the VIP lounge.

Kaia stood completely still. The music pounded in her ears. The weight of the Birkin bag on her arm felt like a hundred pounds of lead. The death sentence hidden inside it crushed whatever courage she had left.