Chapter 4 Ostracized
Leila's POV
I sat across from the HR director of Meridian Investments, one of San Francisco's most prestigious financial firms. His expression had shifted from polite interest to poorly concealed discomfort as soon as he connected my name to recent events.
"Reed miss—oh, I'm sorry. How should I address you?" he asked, shuffling papers unnecessarily.
"Leila Reed is fine," I replied evenly, maintaining my composure despite the familiar sting.
He cleared his throat. "Ms. Reed, while your qualifications are impressive, I'm afraid you wouldn't be a good fit for our organization. We have a long-standing relationship with the Reed family that we value greatly..."
I nodded, having anticipated this response. It was the seventh company to reject me this week alone. "I understand. Thank you for your time."
As I walked toward the elevators, I noticed a former Reed family business associate stepping inside. Our eyes met briefly before he deliberately turned away, suddenly fascinated by the floor numbers. The receptionist whispered to her colleague as I passed, not bothering to lower her voice.
"That's her, the crazy woman who pushed Chloe down the stairs..."
Outside the building, security guards maintained a noticeable distance, as if I carried some contagious disease. Through the glass windows, I could see the HR director speaking with the CEO, their lips forming words I could read even from a distance.
"Reed family made it clear..." "She's been disowned..." "Not worth the risk..."
I clenched my fists, forcing back tears as I walked away with my head held high. How ironic that the same companies that once competed for my attention now wouldn't offer me even a receptionist position.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Reed, but this apartment has just been rented," the landlord said, his earlier enthusiasm evaporating after checking my identification.
"But your online listing was posted today," I challenged. "You specifically mentioned it would be vacant for at least two weeks."
He avoided my gaze. "Circumstances changed suddenly. You know how these things are..."
The landlord stepped away to answer his phone, speaking in hushed tones, but I could still catch fragments.
"Yes, she's here... No, I won't rent to her... Of course..."
When he returned, his demeanor had transformed completely. "I must ask you to leave immediately, or I'll call security."
"That won't be necessary," I said with a bitter smile. "I can see myself out."
As I walked through the lobby, a security guard loudly announced, "Finally, that crazy woman who tried to kill someone is leaving."
Nearby residents whispered among themselves. "I heard she pushed the Reed heiress down a staircase..."
I stepped outside into a sudden downpour, instantly drenched. I had no umbrella, no car, and nowhere to go. Standing in the rain, I thought grimly: At least Theron is still away on business. No additional complications for now.
The café offered temporary shelter from the rain. I entered, soaking wet, drawing stares from the patrons. The server deliberately ignored me until finally approaching with visible reluctance.
"What... would you like?" she asked, barely concealing her disdain.
"Just black coffee, please," I requested, choosing the cheapest item on the menu, trying to remain inconspicuous.
My attempt at invisibility failed when two socialites—close friends of the Reed family—entered the café. Spotting me, the first woman raised her voice deliberately.
"Oh look, it's the psycho who pushed poor Chloe down the stairs!"
Her companion joined in. "Poor Chloe is still undergoing physical therapy, while this vicious woman dares show her face in public!"
A third woman added, "I heard Mr. Sterling divorced her immediately. Serves her right!"
The entire café turned to stare, whispers spreading like wildfire. The server "accidentally" spilled hot coffee over my hand, leaving an angry red mark.
"So sorry," she said with transparent insincerity. "It was an accident..."
"Of course it was," I replied calmly, dabbing at the burn with a napkin. "I understand."
I sat there defiantly, finishing my coffee despite the burning sensation on my hand and the hostile stares surrounding me.
My temporary lodging was a far cry from the Sterling mansion. The cheap hotel room featured peeling wallpaper and leaking pipes, the constant dripping forming a maddening rhythm.
I placed my small suitcase beside the sagging bed. Just yesterday, I'd been turned away from a hotel when my credit card was declined: "I'm sorry, your account has been frozen."
Opening my wallet, I counted the meager cash remaining. My bank account showed all joint accounts frozen, credit cards canceled, and assets locked by Sterling's legal team. Only my pre-marriage savings remained, dwindling rapidly.
I examined the employment ads I'd circled in the newspaper—dozens of positions I was overqualified for, most requiring "good standing and reputation."
The mini-fridge contained only a bottle of water and an expired sandwich. I calculated how to stretch my remaining dollars for the next few days, looking at the hotel's cheap toiletries—a stark contrast to the luxury brands I once used without thought.
My phone blinked with low battery, but the charger was broken, with no money to replace it. "I never imagined I'd worry about affording basic necessities," I whispered to the empty room.
At the convenience store, I selected the cheapest bread, canned food, and basic toiletries. I'd walked there after failing to find a taxi willing to pick me up.
The clerk recognized me immediately, his expression changing to one of suspicion, watching my every move as if expecting theft.
In the checkout line, the customer ahead of me noticed who I was and deliberately created distance between us.
"Keep away from that woman," a mother warned her child. "She's dangerous."
The clerk donned plastic gloves before accepting my money, as if my touch might contaminate him. After ringing up my purchases, he pushed the items toward the edge of the counter without offering a bag.
I gathered everything in my arms and left, trying to maintain whatever dignity I had left.
Standing by the hotel window that evening, I gazed at the city lights, the same San Francisco that had embraced me for twenty-five years now treated me as an outcast.
I recalled the moment I signed the divorce papers, walking out of the Sterling mansion with only a small suitcase, stripped of everything.
Without the Reed family's backing or the Sterling name, I was essentially nothing in this society's eyes. From Reed's "beloved daughter" to an impostor, from Mrs. Sterling to homeless. The identity collapse was devastating.
I remembered Victoria's triumphant expression as she handed me the divorce papers: "Finally, my son can be rid of a fake heiress with questionable origins."
My reflection in the window showed a tired woman I barely recognized, so different from the social butterfly who once graced magazine covers.
Wiping away tears, I straightened my shoulders. "I will start over," I promised myself.
I determined to rebuild from nothing, even starting at the bottom if necessary.
"They took my identity, wealth, and social standing," I whispered to my reflection, "but they can't take my dignity or determination. I'll prove that even without being a Reed or Sterling, I can succeed on my own terms."