Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 901 | Released on: 21/01/2026

down seamlessly. Casimir leaned across the center console, ignoring Nate, who was curr

t was a command wrapped in velvet. "I'm buying

through the city noise. Her glucose levels were crashing. She did the math quick

play coy. She pulled the hand

k contrast to the garbage juice scent of the alley. Nate turned to look at

rearview mirror. "What are you

voice was flat. "Red mea

cker of amusement crossing his f

ng and waiters in tuxedos who judged your shoes. When they walked in, the maitre d'

ped shut. "Right this way, Mr. Vand

menu. "Five T-bone steaks," she told th

He looked at Casim

eaning back in his chair. "And bring

an. She chewed thoroughly, swallowing quickly. It wasn't gluttony; it was refueling. She could feel the proteins br

ve function stabilizing. Neural repair requires higher grade catalysts. She needed specific alkaloids found

tly zero dollars to her name. The fifty dollars she usually ke

wollen and purple. "How did you know?" he asked

outh-breathing due to sinus congestion, which reduces oxygenation to the brain. Combined with the post-prandial somnolence from y

r blankly. "I und

ulled a black credit card from his jacket and to

assume you have a home, even

n Manor,"

aced by a sharp, calculating look. "Kensing

h no

hey say the Kensington spare is a quiet,

ten inaccurate

, letting the digestion process work. But her mind was active. She was replaying the sensati

ly wooden carving. It looked like a trinket, something a tourist woul

n, prolonged exposure would cause headaches, maybe insomnia. For Dejah, with her hyper-sensitive ne

ng up to the ga

e ornament,

carving, then at her.

because it's radioactive. It's slowly po

it from its leather cord. His eyes searched he

creature, Kensin

d it into

calm washed over her. The headache she ha

s," sh

he door and

Chapter End

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Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

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“I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my body feeling like a hollowed-out shell. For fifteen years, I had been the "spare part" of the wealthy Kensington family, a foster child kept only as a biological resource for their golden daughter, Jenna. My adoptive mother, Kathryn, walked in with a cold-eyed doctor, discussing me like an old car needing parts. They were planning another bone marrow "harvest" for the next morning, even though the doctor admitted the procedure was risky because my body hadn't recovered from the last extraction. "Passable is fine," Kathryn said, waving away the danger to my life like she was swatting a fly. "Just get it done. It's her only value." Jenna arrived in a wheelchair, putting on a performance of fragile sisterly love while actually glowing with health from the blood I had given her months ago. I watched as the doctor callously jabbed a needle into my arm, missing the vein on purpose, before turning off my pain medication pump as a final act of petty cruelty. They left me there to rot, convinced I was just a dull, submissive girl with nowhere to go. I lay in the silence, feeling the weight of every scrap they'd fed me and every hand-me-down I'd worn while Jenna lived in luxury. I realized I was never a daughter to them; I was an organ farm meant to be drained until I was empty. But as the door clicked shut, the fog of sedation in my brain finally lifted, replaced by a cold, predatory stillness. "Oracle," my mind whispered. "Online." I ripped the IV from my arm and escaped into the night, turning a five-dollar piece of junk into a six-million-dollar fortune in the city's darkest underground markets. By the time I returned to the Kensington Manor, I wasn't the useless foster girl they remembered-I was a predator with a massive bank account and a plan to take back everything they stole from me.”