The Ruined Heiress's Vengeful Comeback

The hospital room was dead silent.

The only sound was the slow, steady drip of the IV fluid falling into the chamber.

Hartwell's rough thumb dragged over the sensitive skin of Collette's inner arm.

The heat from his palm sent a wave of physiological shivers straight up her spine. It was a terrifying contrast to the brutal words he had just spoken.

Collette tried to yank her arm back.

Hartwell's grip tightened instantly, pinning her arm to his thigh. He didn't look up, just continued kneading the sore muscles.

The heavy, suffocating tension in the room was suddenly broken by two sharp knocks on the door.

K. M. Sterling pushed the door open and stepped inside. His face was strictly professional.

"Mr. Lara," Sterling said quietly. "The board is waiting. The acquisition meeting starts in twenty minutes."

Hartwell's hand stopped moving.

A deep crease formed between his eyebrows. He looked highly displeased.

Collette immediately seized the opportunity. She ripped her arm out of his loosened grip and rolled over, turning her back to him.

"Mr. Lara is a very busy man," Collette said to the wall. Her voice was flat and hollow. "Don't waste your time pitying me here."

Hartwell stared at his empty palm. His eyes darkened.

He stood up slowly. He reached up and buttoned his suit jacket, instantly transforming back into the untouchable CEO of the Lara Empire.

He leaned over the bed.

He grabbed the edge of the blanket Collette had kicked away and forcefully tucked it around her shoulders, trapping her body in the warmth.

"Stay in this bed and rest," Hartwell ordered coldly. "I will deal with you after my meeting."

He turned around and walked out. Sterling followed closely behind.

The door clicked shut.

The overwhelming pressure in the room vanished, leaving behind a sickening, empty silence.

Collette slowly rolled onto her back. She stared at the blank white ceiling.

A massive, gaping hole tore open in her chest. The cold wind blew right through it.

She let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh.

In the face of his money, his power, and his precious Isabell, she was always the one who could be dropped at a moment's notice.

She lifted her right hand. Her thumb found the edge of her index fingernail.

She started picking at the cuticle. She picked and picked until the skin broke and a bright bead of blood welled up.

The sharp sting of pain grounded her. It kept her brain from falling apart.

Thirty minutes later, the door opened again.

Marta walked in, carrying a large, insulated thermal bag.

"Miss," Marta said, her eyes full of pity as she looked at Collette's pale face. She set the bag on the rolling tray table.

She unzipped it and pulled out a heavy porcelain bowl.

Instantly, the rich, savory smell of premium seafood filled the sterile hospital room.

"Mr. Lara ordered this before he left," Marta explained. "It's from Le Bernardin. He said you must eat."

Collette stared at the steaming soup.

Her stomach violently rejected the idea. It felt like a slap in the face. A piece of expensive meat thrown to a stray dog to keep it quiet.

She turned her head away. "Take it away. I'm not hungry."

Marta sighed heavily. "Miss, please. It is your body. How can you get better if you do not eat?"

The words struck Collette like lightning.

How can you get better?

She needed to get better. She had a war to fight. She had a family to destroy. She couldn't die in this pathetic bed.

Collette took a deep breath. She shoved the grief down into the pit of her stomach and sat up.

She took the heavy silver spoon from Marta's hand.

Like a machine completing a task, she scooped the expensive soup and forced it into her mouth.

The warm liquid hit her stomach, bringing a rush of physical energy.

She swallowed every last drop, her eyes staring straight ahead, completely cold and terrifyingly clear.