Chapter 2
The rain poured down as if the sky itself was crying for me.
I stumbled out of the hotel, my high heels losing their grip on the slick steps. "Ah!" I fell hard, a sharp pain shooting through my knee. My phone flew out of my bag, shattering on the
stone steps. The screen went black—just like my world.
Trembling, I pushed myself up. Rain and tears blurred my vision. Fumbling through my wallet, my fingers closed around the silver credit card—the supplementary card Russell had given me. My name was printed on it: "Kaitlyn Penrose." It felt like a mockery of my naivety.
When had he given it to me? Three months ago, when I was upset about not being able to afford a birthday gift for him, he had stroked my cheek and said, "Use this. My girl shouldn't worry about money." I'd been so touched then, believing it was a sign of his commitment...
It was all charity!
I remembered the expensive dinners, the designer clothes, all the gifts I thought were tokens of love—they were all just props in his game! He was using money to humiliate me, to turn me into his real "plaything"!
"I won't use a single cent of his money ever again!" Rage and shame twisted together inside me. I hurled my wallet to the ground. Cards scattered in the rain.
The buses had stopped running. No taxis would be available in this weather. It was at least a two-hour walk home. But I had no choice.
"Walk, Kaitlyn. You can do this..." I kicked off the torturous high heels and stepped barefoot onto the cold pavement. Each step felt like walking on glass, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony inside.
Why did Russell do this to me?
The rain grew heavier. My hair clung to my face; I was a complete mess. Pedestrians hurried past, no one sparing a glance for a disheveled woman walking alone in the storm. Maybe this was my fate—always an outsider, never belonging in that glittering world.
Suddenly, a black Tesla slowed to a stop beside me. The window rolled down. A familiar voice asked, "Kaitlyn? My god, what are you doing out here?"
It was Matthew. Russell's Stanford senior—the man I'd remembered instantly.
I recalled three months ago, when Russell brought me to a private cocktail party and introduced me as his "personal assistant." Back then, I thought he was just protecting our relationship from too much scrutiny. It was at that party I first met Matthew York—sharp features, warm brown eyes, and an impressively calm demeanor.
Russell had introduced him: "This is my senior, Matthew. A self-made legend." Matthew had shaken my hand politely. Those brown eyes looked at me with focus, as if he actually saw me as someone worthy of respect, not just Russell's "assistant."
Looking back, maybe Matthew had sensed something was off even then.
"I'm walking home," I said, trying to cling to the last shreds of my dignity.
"In this weather? You'll get sick. Get in the car." Matthew pushed the passenger door open. I took a step back.
"I don't need pity, Mr. York." My voice shook from the cold, but my gaze stayed firm.
He looked at me deeply, his tone turning serious. "This isn't pity. It's one friend helping another. Do you want me to watch you get hurt in this storm?"
I hesitated. Logic told me to get in the car, but my pride fought back. I'd already been utterly humiliated; I couldn't bear anyone's sympathy.
"Kaitlyn, your lips are turning blue." He paused, his voice growing firmer. "I don't know what happened tonight, but whatever it is, it's not worth hurting yourself like this."
Hurt myself like this...
I looked into his eyes—genuine concern and a warmth I'd never seen in Russell's. Maybe he was right. This wasn't changing anything; it was just causing more pain.
Trembling, I got into the car. The warm air conditioning almost made me cry. My drenched body greedily soaked in the warmth, just like my shattered heart longed for comfort.
"Thank you," I whispered, biting my lip, unable to meet his eyes.
Matthew didn't ask what happened. He just drove silently. His consideration made it worse—why did it have to be him seeing me like this?
Twenty minutes later, we reached my rundown apartment building. I was about to thank him and get out when I noticed the lights were still on inside.
"That's strange... Mom should be asleep by now..."
A bad feeling crept up my spine. Forgetting to say goodbye to Matthew, I pushed the car door open and rushed for the stairs. With every step, my heart beat faster. Please don't let anything be wrong, please...
I flew up the stairs, fumbling with my keys before shoving the door open. "Mom? I'm home..."
The living room was silent. Her phone lay on the floor, the screen still lit.
She would never just drop her phone like that!
My heart leapt into my throat. I ran to the bedroom.
The moment I pushed the door open, my world completely collapsed.
"Mom!"
She was collapsed by the bed, her face deathly pale, breathing ragged. I shook her frantically. "Mom, wake up!"
No, no, no... This can't be happening... I checked her pulse with a trembling hand. She was still breathing, but it was faint. So faint.
Matthew, hearing the commotion, rushed upstairs and immediately called for an ambulance. While we waited, I saw what was on my mom's phone—a video from tonight's gala. Someone had recorded Russell humiliating me and uploaded it online.
She saw it... She saw everything...
"No, Mom... It's all my fault..." I held her cold hand, tears flooding down my face. She must have seen the video, the shock triggering her old illness.
It was all my fault. If I hadn't gone to that damn gala, if I hadn't been so naive to trust Russell...
The ambulance arrived, sirens wailing. Matthew and I accompanied my mom to the hospital. In the ER, a doctor approached me, his expression grave.
"The patient's condition is critical. She needs immediate heart surgery. But..." The doctor paused. "The cost will be around one hundred thousand dollars."
One hundred thousand dollars.
The number hit me like a thunderbolt. I felt my pockets. My bank card had only a few thousand dollars—meager savings from my part-time job. As for the luxury items Russell bought me, they were all still at his apartment. I'd rather die than go back for them.
"I... I don't have that kind of money," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Please proceed with the surgery. I'll handle the cost," Matthew said decisively to the doctor.
"Matthew, I can't accept this!" I grabbed his arm urgently. "I could never pay you back!"
He looked at me, gentle but firm. "We can discuss that later. Right now, saving a life is what matters."
The red light above the operating room glowed. I collapsed into a chair in the hallway. An hour ago, I thought I'd hit rock bottom. Little did I know fate had an even crueler blow in store.
"Here, have some coffee." Matthew handed me a warm cup and sat down beside me.
"Why?" I choked out. "Why are you helping me? We barely know each other..."
Matthew was silent for a moment, studying me. "Maybe we haven't interacted much, but I've been observing. Three months ago, at that party, while everyone was discussing stocks and real estate, you were the only one genuinely appreciating the Monet on the wall. Your insights about art that night... they impressed me."
I was stunned. He remembered those details?
"And your grades at Stanford, your professional skills..." He paused. "To be honest, I always thought Russell didn't deserve your talent."
His words struck a chord. Had he seen it all along?
Matthew continued, "I don't know what happened tonight, but I know you need a chance to prove yourself. As it happens..." He paused again. "I have a business proposition."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"This is still pity..." I said bitterly.
"Kaitlyn, this is a business collaboration," Matthew cut in. "I won't ask about tonight, but I know you're worth more. I need a partner who understands art and creativity. Your background and talent are exactly what my company needs."
His voice grew firm. "Proving your worth with your talent is far better than any dirty gossip."
Far better than any dirty gossip...
The words resonated deep within me. Maybe this was truly my only chance.
I looked at the closed operating room doors, my emotions in turmoil. Pride screamed at me not to accept anyone's help. But reality cruelly reminded me that if I refused, my mom might...
"Okay," I whispered, the word so soft I could barely hear it myself. "I accept. But this is a business collaboration. Not charity."
A flicker of satisfaction passed through Matthew's eyes. "Of course. I need a partner, not someone to take care of. You'll be based in London, responsible for expanding our European market. The annual salary is two hundred thousand dollars—enough for you to be independent."
Two hundred thousand dollars. The number stunned me. It was a salary I never dared to dream of.
"Can I... really handle it?"
"You can," Matthew said with conviction. "Believe me. And believe in yourself."
Just then, the operating room doors opened. The doctor emerged. "The surgery was successful. The patient will need some time to recover."
I nearly collapsed from relief. Tears welled up again, but this time they were tears of gratitude.
Sitting in the hospital hallway, watching my mom being wheeled back to her room, with Matthew silently by my side, I felt a whirlwind of emotions. Russell's betrayal still tore at my heart, but Matthew's appearance offered a glimmer of hope in my despair.
At least I had a chance to prove myself.
The night deepened. The hospital was quiet, the only sound the dripping of a distant faucet. Watching my mom's pale but peaceful sleeping face, I felt for the first time that maybe fate hadn't completely abandoned me.
Russell wanted to destroy me. But I will rise.
I'll show him that an artist's daughter can make her own way in this cold, hard world.