The Billionaire's Broken Doll Returns

Jane stood at a busy intersection in Manhattan. She wore her oversized, outdated coat. The noise of the city rushed past her in a blur of yellow cabs and rushing pedestrians. A taxi sped through a puddle near the curb. Dirty water splashed against her pant legs. She flinched and stumbled backward. People in expensive suits cast disgusted glances at her. She immediately dropped her gaze, her shoulders hunching forward in the same defensive posture she used to avoid guards in Cell Block D. She forced herself to look up. In the distance, the towering glass skyscrapers pierced the clouds. That was Carson Long and Blaire Lowe's world. She did not belong here anymore. A sharp gust of wind blew down the avenue. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Her cold fingers brushed against the thin envelope in her pocket. Her parole officer's warning echoed in her head. She had to be at the halfway house in Queens before sunset. But her feet moved in the opposite direction. She walked toward the Upper East Side. Toward New York-Presbyterian Hospital. She stopped outside a high-end florist. Through the pristine glass window, she saw a display of fresh white lilies. They were Blaire's favorite. Five years ago, before the fire, Jane used to help Blaire pick them out. She pushed the heavy glass door open. A small bell chimed. The sudden blast of warm air from the heaters made her shiver. The clerk behind the counter looked up. Her eyes scanned Jane's ragged clothes and the fading bruises on her face. The clerk's expression instantly hardened into defensive disgust. Jane pointed a trembling finger at the white lilies. "How much?" Jane asked. Her voice was raspy, sounding like sandpaper scraping across wood. The clerk stated a price that was three times the amount in Jane's pocket. She gave Jane a look that clearly said to leave. Jane pulled her hand back. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crisp twenty-dollar bill. She placed it gently on the glass counter. "Can I..." Jane swallowed hard. "Can I buy something cheaper? Even if they are dying. Just for twenty dollars." The clerk rolled her eyes. She slapped a few crumpled dollar bills onto the glass counter as change, then walked over to a plastic bucket in the corner meant for the trash. She pulled out three wilting daisies with browning edges and shoved them into Jane's hands. Jane did not care about the disrespect. She held the dying flowers against her chest as if they were made of gold. "Thank you," Jane whispered repeatedly. She left the shop and continued walking up Madison Avenue. With every step closer to the hospital, her heart beat faster against her ribs. She stopped in front of the massive hospital entrance. The revolving doors spun endlessly, swallowing up well-dressed, healthy people. She looked down at her scuffed, dirty shoes. A wave of intense shame washed over her. She did not deserve to breathe the same air as the people inside. But when she blinked, she heard Blaire's agonizing screams from the burning car. The desperate need to atone pushed the fear down. She clenched her jaw and forced her stiff legs to walk into the bright, sterile lobby. The air conditioning raised goosebumps on her arms. She walked up to the front desk. "I need the room number for Blaire Lowe," Jane said softly. The nurse's face dropped. Her eyes darted over Jane's face. She immediately reached under the desk and pressed the silent security button. "Who are you?" the nurse demanded, her voice tight with panic. "I'm her friend," Jane stuttered, taking a step back. "I just want to see her." At that exact moment, the large television screen mounted on the lobby wall switched to a financial news broadcast. Jane heard the name. She snapped her head up and stared at the screen. Carson Long. He wore a tailored black suit. His face was sharp, handsome, and terrifyingly cold. Five years had made him look even more ruthless. Just looking at his face on a screen made Jane's lungs constrict. Two massive security guards marched across the lobby floor, heading straight for Jane. Jane panicked. She turned away from the desk and ran toward the elevator banks, desperately looking for the VIP wing. She collided hard with an orderly pushing a medical cart. Plastic trays, bandages, and metal instruments crashed onto the marble floor. The noise echoed like a gunshot. Everyone in the lobby stopped and stared at the frail, terrified woman. A security guard grabbed Jane's arm and twisted it violently behind her back. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder. She let out a muffled groan. The three daisies fell to the floor. Through the chaos, the stainless steel doors of the private VIP elevator chimed open. A middle-aged woman stepped out, surrounded by bodyguards. She wore a custom Chanel suit. Her face was elegant, but right now, it was twisted in absolute fury. It was Meredith Lowe. Blaire's mother.