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The Forgotten Genius: Rising From Ruin

Chapter 3 Elle

Word Count: 668    |    Released on: 27/01/2026

a wall coming down between her emotions and her voice. She could not beg.

number on the b

ediately, his tone

nancial proposition regarding t

oritative. She didn't know where the tone came

her end. The mention of the e

Kurtis

music played. It was heav

one, vibrating with an authority that

ea

ed against her ribs,

I need five thousand dolla

. It stretched ou

ket change? Duke Montgomery asked.

anel said. I will repay you with t

wa

king at a live feed on his tablet. The feed was from the Lenox-Montgomery Clinic, a 'charitable' acqu

the hospital gown and the bruises. She didn't look like the wee

cent, Duke said. H

atically. That is the standard high-ris

t. The numbers just appeared in

in his office. A ra

tails, he

uctions from the bottom of t

ped an octave, becoming intimat

come collect,

e click

pital bed. She looked frail but defiant. A ghost of a memory surfaced-a girl with the same fire in her eyes, laughing in a sun-drenched

econds later, the nurse's com

ide. She stared at the

in full, the nurse s

sagged, the adrenaline

r IV. A bead of blood welled up

ving, s

ess, torn at the hem and stained with mud and blood. She p

head high. She passed the nurs

s matted, her face pale. She looked like a wreck. But her eyes were fie

the bright, harsh sunlight

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The Forgotten Genius: Rising From Ruin
The Forgotten Genius: Rising From Ruin
“I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a throbbing head and a memory as blank as the white walls. Before I could even ask who I was, my fiancé, Beckham, stormed in with my sister, Isamar, and ended our engagement with a look of pure disgust. "Stop the act, Chanel," he sneered, accusing me of crashing my car just to hound him for money. "The accident won't save you this time. You're a pathetic gold digger, and you just lost your meal ticket." The nightmare only deepened from there. My own mother disowned me over the phone, freezing my bank accounts and calling me a disgrace for "faking a suicide" just to get Beckham's attention. When I returned to the family estate to reclaim my legal documents, my mother slapped me across the face, and my brother, Liam, tried to beat me, treating me like a common thief in my own home. Left with nothing but a black business card and a debt I couldn't pay, I fled into a rainy night on a stolen ATV. My adrenaline was crashing, and my hands shook on the handlebars as I rounded a sharp, wet curve. I lost control, skidding across the asphalt and smashing head-first into a luxury Maybach. The man who stepped out of the car was none other than Duke Montgomery-the most feared, powerful man in the city, a "disfigured recluse" the tabloids whispered about in hushed tones. I didn't understand why my own blood treated me like trash or why my sister was smirking while I bled in the mud. I was a stranger to my own past, discarded by everyone I was supposed to love, and now I owed a fifty-thousand-dollar repair bill to a man who looked like he could crush me with a single word. But as I looked into Duke's cold, aristocratic eyes, something inside me snapped. I didn't beg for mercy. I stood my ground and offered a high-stakes negotiation. "I will work it off," I told him, stepping into his car and choosing to walk straight into the lion's den to take back the life they stole from me.”