The Jilted Heiress And Her Ruthless Savior

Elinor stepped into the hallway of the music building. The air was cool and clean. The chaotic sounds of piano scales and violin strings echoed from the practice rooms.

She pulled the black N95 mask off her face. She folded it in half and shoved it into her coat pocket. She took a deep breath of the filtered air. Her lungs finally relaxed.

She walked past the main bulletin board. A bright red poster hung in the center. It advertised an SAT prep course.

The red ink burned her eyes. Her chest seized up again.

Eleventh grade. A rainy Saturday morning in Manhattan.

Elinor sat at a desk inside the Princeton Review center. The room smelled like dry-erase markers and stale coffee.

The tutor handed out thick stacks of practice tests. The wooden chair next to Elinor was empty.

She pulled out her phone. Her fingers dialed Howell's number. It went straight to voicemail. The automated voice grated against her ear.

The scene in her mind shifted to the edge of the city. A rundown trailer park.

Howell stood on the metal steps of a trailer. His clothes were soaked with rain. He knocked on the thin door.

Carrie opened it. She had dark purple makeup smeared under her eye to look like a bruise. She collapsed into Howell's chest. She sobbed and said her stepdad went crazy again.

Howell wrapped his arms around her. He held her tight. The SAT test and Elinor waiting in Manhattan vanished from his brain.

Carrie pulled away. She wanted to show him how strong she was. She walked to the cheap counter and picked up a plate of chocolate chip cookies. They were from a bulk bin at a discount grocery store.

She handed him one. She lied and said she baked them for him.

Howell took three of them. He ate them fast. He did not know the cheap factory line was covered in peanut dust.

Ten minutes later, his throat swelled shut. He fell onto the dirty fabric of the trailer couch. His body convulsed.

Carrie screamed. She dropped the plate. She panicked and dialed 911.

While the paramedics loaded Howell into the ambulance, the lead EMT pulled the emergency contact card from Howell's designer wallet and immediately notified his mother.

Back in Manhattan, Elinor's phone vibrated on the desk. The caller ID showed Beatrice Hampton.

Elinor answered. Beatrice's voice was like ice. She screamed at Elinor. She demanded to know why Elinor let Howell out of her sight. He was in the emergency room again.

Elinor's brain went completely blank. She grabbed her coat and ran out of the building. She flagged down a yellow cab and threw cash at the driver.

The emergency room at Mount Sinai Hospital smelled like rubbing alcohol.

Beatrice paced the hallway. She wore a pristine Chanel suit. Her high heels clicked sharply against the linoleum floor.

The doors swung open. A doctor walked out. He said Howell was stable, but the reaction was worse than the last time.

A nurse pushed Howell out on a stretcher. He looked pale and sick. Carrie walked behind the stretcher. She kept her head down like a scared animal.

Beatrice saw Carrie. Her face twisted with rage. She marched up to the stretcher.

She raised her hand and slapped Howell across the face.

The crack of her palm hitting his skin echoed down the long hallway. Beatrice screamed at him. She told him he was throwing his life away for a piece of trash.

Howell grabbed his red cheek. He turned his head violently. His eyes locked onto Elinor, who had just run up to the group.

His eyes were filled with pure hatred.

"Did you tell her?" Howell hissed. His voice was raw. "Did you track me and call my mother?"

Elinor stopped walking. Her wet trench coat dripped water onto the floor. Her feet felt glued to the tiles.

Her lips parted. She wanted to tell him she had been waiting for him all morning. She wanted to say she had no idea where he was.

But she saw the absolute disgust in his eyes. Her throat closed up. She swallowed the words.

Beatrice ordered the security guards to throw Carrie out. She turned to Elinor and told her to leave. She called the whole situation an embarrassment.

The memory faded. Elinor stood in front of the bulletin board. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke.

She closed her eyes. She shook her head to clear the sick feeling from her stomach. She turned and walked toward Practice Room B at the end of the hall.