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Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 1239    |    Released on: 21/01/2026

h wore, biting into her skin with teeth of ice. She had found the clothes in a laundry bin near the nurses

six seconds. The slide down the drainpipe had been harder. Her muscles were atrophied, her grip strength

he wa

e hospital loomed behind her, a fortress of white brick and misery. She

tcut that would spit her out near the subway lines. The s

pretty

wet, slurred.

r and aggression. They weren't professionals; their stances were sloppy, their cen

nd still on her wrist. In the dim light, the silver holographic strip mu

ng for Dejah's shoulder. His fi

mble vibrated through the asphalt. A car had stopped at the red light. It was a Bu

he driver's seat, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel. He was bor

ase shining on his chin. Nate pointed a fry toward the al

his eyes barely flicke

" Nate asked, though he d

seconds," Casimir sa

eader's hand touche

ct was th

fficiency of physics. She couldn't overpower him, so she used his own structure a

n

as minimal; the pain was catastrophic. The leader scre

er left foot. The second man swung a clumsy haymaker. She ducked, the wind of the punch ruffling her hood. She didn't punch; her knuckles were too frag

look away, froze. He sat up s

ed his weight. It wasn't a powerful kick, just a perfectly timed disruption of balance. As

is a powerful toxin; she could

austion. They scrambled back, tripping over each other,

hammering against her ribs like a trappe

he leaned against the brick wall for a split second to steady hers

. The Bugatti was still there. The light h

looked inside. The glass was tinted, but

r forgotten in his lap. "Holy shit

urned her head and l

mottled red. His pupils were slightly dilated, but sluggish. There wa

ed on th

down. "You... you're a

py. "You're breathing through your mouth because your septum is swollen. Your reaction

ing sound. "What? Is that a threat? I'm s

es met. His were dark, intelligent, and utterly devoid of fear. H

section ahead has a blind spot caused by the renovation scaff

d away, crossing the s

eaching for the radio dial. "Di

answer. He put

celer

a painter's scaffolding shifted in the wind. A heavy bucket o

f

pavement directly in

screeched to a halt, the tires smokin

eating, flew forward. Physics took over. H

owing his head b

ey were covered in bright crimson blood. I

s actually blood! Casimir! S

e rearview mirror. He watched the small figure

asn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a

ing," he

executing a perfect U-turn

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Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress
Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress
“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.”