Chapter 6 The Three Mysterious Men
Leila's POV
I stepped out of the mall into the unrelenting rain, my circumstances now viewed through the lens of impending motherhood. Every problem magnified tenfold. I needed shelter—not just for me, but for my unborn child. The meager funds I had suddenly seemed even more inadequate.
"I need to get away from the city center," I decided, heading toward a bus stop. "Somewhere no one will recognize me."
The journey to the city outskirts took nearly an hour, the bus windows fogging as rain continued to pour outside. When I finally stepped off, I found myself in a neighborhood I'd never visited during my years in San Francisco. Crumbling buildings lined the streets, their walls covered in graffiti. Homeless individuals huddled in doorways, and the stench of garbage and despair hung in the air.
The contrast with Pacific Heights, where I'd lived with Theron, couldn't have been more stark. There, manicured lawns and security gates protected multi-million dollar homes. Here, broken windows were patched with cardboard, and children played in potholed streets.
Passersby stared curiously—my demeanor and speech patterns marking me as an outsider despite my simple clothes. At least here, I thought with grim satisfaction, no one would recognize the disgraced former Mrs. Sterling or the fake Reed heiress.
I approached several buildings with "For Rent" signs. Most landlords immediately asked for credit checks and proof of employment—neither of which I could provide. Others were willing to accept cash, but quoted rents far beyond my means.
As daylight faded, the streets grew more threatening. Groups of young men gathered on corners, their eyes following me with unsettling interest. My heart pounded as I quickened my pace, the full weight of my vulnerability crashing down on me.
"How did I end up here?" I wondered, blinking back tears. "How did everything collapse so completely?"
The first drops of evening rain began to fall as I turned down yet another street. Just as desperation began to overwhelm me, I spotted a handwritten sign in a basement window: "Room for Rent—Cash Only." I knocked on the door, met by an elderly woman with suspicious eyes.
"What do you want?" she demanded, looking me up and down.
"I'm interested in renting the room," I replied, trying to sound confident.
She hesitated, then opened the door wider. "It's not much. Basement unit. Bathroom and kitchenette included."
The space was worse than I'd imagined. Mold crept up the walls, the ceiling leaked in multiple spots, and rodent droppings dotted the corners. The bathroom fixtures were rusted, and only one burner on the ancient stove appeared functional.
"I'll take it," I said, pulling out cash. "I need to move in immediately. This should cover the first month."
After the landlady left, I attempted to make the space habitable. I cleaned what I could with limited supplies, placed buckets under the worst leaks, and covered the stained mattress with my cleanest clothes. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I surveyed my new home with disbelief.
"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered, cradling my stomach. "Mommy can only offer you this for now."
Sleep came fitfully that night, interrupted by the constant dripping from the ceiling and unfamiliar noises from the street. By morning, I was exhausted and immediately hit with another wave of nausea. I barely made it to the grimy bathroom, heaving painfully into the toilet. Only cold water ran from the tap as I rinsed my mouth afterward, shivering against the chill.
Leaning against the wall, I worried about the pregnancy progressing without medical care. I tried to remember everything I knew about prenatal health, assessing my own condition as best I could.
"I can barely feed myself," I thought desperately. "How will I care for a child?"
The continuous rainfall over the next few days worsened the leaking ceiling, creating a constant dripping symphony. Nights brought bone-chilling cold that the dilapidated heater couldn't combat. I worried about the mold covering one wall—surely it couldn't be healthy for a pregnant woman. The kitchen sink had backed up, rendering it unusable, and shouting matches from neighboring apartments punctuated my attempts to rest.
As I huddled under my thin blanket on the fifth night, I became increasingly convinced that my struggles weren't merely bad luck. Too many "coincidences" had aligned to destroy my attempts at rebuilding. Someone was systematically cutting off every avenue of support.
Who had the resources and motivation? The Reed family? The Sterling? The timing and thoroughness suggested powerful forces at work.
The following morning, I ventured to a nearby café, purchasing the cheapest item on the menu to gain access to their Wi-Fi. My fingers trembled as I searched for news about the world I'd left behind. My heart contracted painfully at a headline: "Sterling Group CEO and Reed Heiress Engagement Imminent."
The accompanying photo showed Theron standing beside Chloe at a charity gala, her hand possessively on his arm. His face remained impassive as ever, but something in his stance seemed different—stiffer, perhaps, than I remembered.
The sight hurt, but it also hardened my resolve. I would survive without their world, without their approval. I had to, not just for myself anymore.
A week passed, each day bleaker than the last. The little food I'd purchased was nearly gone, and I'd visibly lost weight despite the pregnancy. Morning sickness had intensified, leaving me too weak to venture out most days. The increasing rainfall had saturated half my mattress, forcing me to sleep in an awkward position on its driest corner.
I was awakened from a fitful sleep by the unusual sound of expensive engines—a noise completely out of place in this neighborhood. Curious voices filled the street outside as residents emerged to investigate.
Dragging my weakened body to the window, I peered out to see three luxury sedans parked directly in front of the building. Their glossy black exteriors gleamed incongruously against the dilapidated surroundings.
Car doors opened simultaneously, and three tall, distinguished men stepped out. They wore impeccably tailored suits and moved with the confident grace of those born to privilege. Neighborhood residents gathered, murmuring among themselves.
"What are rich folks like them doing here?" someone asked loudly.
The three men ignored the growing crowd, walking purposefully toward my building. Their determined expressions sent a chill through me. Had Theron found me? Were they here to deliver some final blow to my already shattered life?
Heavy knocks rattled my door. I stood frozen behind it, heart pounding wildly.
Taking a deep breath, I cracked the door open, finding the three strangers standing in my dingy hallway. Their expressions contained a complex mixture of emotions I couldn't decipher.
The man in front drew a sharp breath, his eyes flickering with what seemed like excitement and relief.
I asked cautiously. "Who are you?"