The Betrayed Heiress: Rising From Ashes

Charlene didn't blink. She couldn't breathe. She stared at the little boy named Leo. Leo was up on his tiptoes, his small fingers stretching to hit a button on the top row of the vending machine. Dotty, who was walking back down the hall with a stack of towels, stopped. She followed Charlene's intense gaze. Dotty gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my lord," Dotty whispered, her voice carrying through the crack in the door. "He looks exactly like you did when you were a baby." The words hit Charlene like a physical blow to the chest. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She pushed the heavy door open and took a massive step out into the hallway. The wheels of her IV pole caught hard on the metal threshold of the doorway. It let out a loud, screeching scrape. Leo jumped. He spun around, his coat flaring out. His eyes met hers. For one second, time stopped. Two pairs of identical, dark eyes locked onto each other across the sterile hallway. Then, Leo's eyes widened. He looked like a terrified deer. He took a quick step backward. He spun around to run. As he turned, something flew out of his shallow coat pocket. It hit the marble floor with a sharp clink. Leo didn't stop. He bolted down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Charlene didn't care about the throbbing pain in her broken wrist. She gripped the IV pole and pushed herself forward, practically dragging her weak legs across the floor. She reached the vending machine. She was panting, her chest heaving. She bent down awkwardly, using her left hand to reach for the floor. Her fingers brushed against cold, heavy metal. She picked it up. It was a custom black-and-gold cufflink. The metal was intricately engraved with a unique, unfamiliar family crest. She quickly shoved the heavy cufflink deep into the pocket of her hospital gown. "Charlene!" The loud, dramatic cry echoed down the hall. The sharp clack of high heels approached rapidly. Charlene turned her head. Her adoptive mother, Mrs. Gay, and Isabela were marching down the corridor. Isabela was holding a massive, obscenely expensive bouquet of pure white lilies. "My poor, sweet girl!" Mrs. Gay wailed, loud enough for the passing nurses to hear, her performance flawless. She pulled Charlene into a suffocating, perfume-drenched hug. Isabela stood slightly behind her mother. She pulled a tissue from her designer purse and dabbed at the corners of her perfectly dry eyes. As she pressed her perfectly made-up cheek against Charlene's ear, Mrs. Gay's voice dropped into a vicious, barely audible whisper. "This is exactly what you get for having that disgusting blood in your veins. Your biological father gave you his trash genes, and now look at you. Keep playing the crazy stray, or I'll make sure you never leave a hospital again." Charlene stood perfectly still. She looked down at her adoptive mother's face, taking in the thick layer of foundation and the fake, trembling lips. Beneath the fake tears, Charlene saw it clearly. The flash of deep disgust and cold calculation in Mrs. Gay's eyes. Charlene didn't say a word. She slowly, deliberately pulled her left hand out of Mrs. Gay's grip. She didn't yank it. She just slid her fingers away, breaking the physical contact. In that exact moment, the last dying ember of love she had for this family turned to ash. Her heart went completely, permanently cold.