Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

The iron gates of Kensington Manor loomed above Dejah, intricate black metal twisted into shapes that were supposed to be vines but looked more like snakes. The Bugatti idled behind her, a low growl in the quiet suburban street.

Standing by the gate pillar was Julian Montgomery. He was pacing back and forth, clutching a bouquet of wilted roses that looked like they had been bought at a gas station. His suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened.

He looked up when he heard the car door slam. His eyes widened when he saw the Bugatti, then narrowed into slits when he saw Dejah.

"Where the hell have you been?" Julian marched toward her, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. "Jenna has been waiting at the hospital for hours! She fainted, Dejah! She fainted because of the stress you caused her!"

He reached out and grabbed Dejah's wrist. His grip was clammy and desperate.

"You selfish little brat," he hissed. "We thought you ran away. And here you are, hopping out of some sugar daddy's car?"

Dejah looked down at his hand on her wrist. She didn't pull away immediately. She didn't have the strength to fight him directly, but she didn't need to. She stepped in closer, disrupting his center of gravity, and rotated her forearm against the joint of his thumb.

She jerked her arm up. Julian's grip broke instantly. He stumbled back, looking at his hand in shock.

"You... you pulled away?" He looked offended. "You never pull away."

"I'm not donating," Dejah said calmly.

Julian's face turned red. He jabbed a finger toward the tinted window of the Bugatti. "Is that it? You found some rich guy to pay your way so you don't have to save your sister? You're disgusting."

Dejah stepped closer to him. She could smell the stale alcohol on his breath and something else beneath it. She looked at his collar.

"Julian," she said, her voice low. "You smell like her. Synthetic rose and bergamot. And there is a faint smudge on your left collar. It's barely visible, but I can see the pigment."

Julian froze. His hand flew to his neck, covering the spot. "You're crazy. You're hallucinating."

"You say Jenna fainted from stress," Dejah continued, relentless. "But hypoxia from intense physical exertion-like making out in a car with the heat on-can also cause fainting. Were you comforting her, Julian? Or were you celebrating my upcoming surgery?"

"Shut up!" Julian screamed. The embarrassment was too much. He raised his hand, palm open, aiming for Dejah's face.

She didn't flinch. She watched the trajectory of his arm. She calculated the intercept point. She prepared to catch his wrist and use his own momentum to drive him into the pavement.

But she didn't have to.

The driver's door of the Bugatti opened. Casimir Vanderbilt stepped out. He didn't rush. He unfolded his tall frame with a lazy grace, leaning back against the door.

"Montgomery," Casimir said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried across the pavement like a crack of thunder. "I didn't know the Montgomery family raised men who hit women. That's... disappointing."

Julian's hand froze in mid-air. He spun around. When he saw who was speaking, the blood drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse.

"Mr. Vanderbilt?" Julian's voice cracked. He lowered his hand slowly. "I... I didn't know it was you. I mean... I thought..."

"You thought she was with someone you could bully," Casimir finished for him. He walked over to where they stood. He didn't touch Dejah, but he stood close enough that his presence formed a wall between her and Julian. He draped an arm casually along the air behind her shoulders, a possessive gesture that didn't require contact.

"She is my guest," Casimir said. "Do you have a problem with my guest, Julian?"

"No," Julian stammered. "No, sir. It's just... Jenna... she's sick..."

Casimir laughed. "The piano girl? The one who plays like a robot and smiles like a shark? Please. Spare me the sob story."

Julian looked like he wanted to argue, but the name 'Vanderbilt' was a weight he couldn't lift. The Vanderbilts owned half the city. The Montgomerys just rented space in it.

"I'll... I'll go," Julian mumbled. He shot Dejah one last look of pure venom. "This isn't over, Dejah."

He scuttled to his sedan and drove off, tires squealing.

"Pathetic," Nate called out from the car window. "Total beta energy."

Dejah turned to Casimir. "I didn't need your help."

"I know," Casimir said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black card. It had no bank logo, just a single phone number embossed in gold. "But watching him squirm was entertaining. Take this."

"I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity," he said, pressing it into her hand. "It's an investment. I have a feeling you're going to cause a lot of trouble, Dejah Kensington. And I want a front-row seat."

Dejah took the card. She didn't say thank you this time. She turned and walked toward the gate.