The Wronged Heiress’ Revenge

The second Zara Powell slid into the back of the taxi, she spotted it— a car hanging right on their tail.

Even after the taxi turned onto a quiet back road with barely any traffic, that car didn’t fall back. Worry crept into her voice when she finally leaned forward, "Driver, can you speed up a little?"

The driver glanced at the flashy Mercedes in his rearview, then back at Zara, his brow furrowing with concern, "That car following you, miss?"

Zara bit her lip and stared at her lap, "No."

She didn’t even bother glancing over her shoulder to check.

The driver didn’t push. He just shook his head with a dry huff, "C'mon miss, look at this beat-up cab I’m driving, then look at that car behind us. I’d love to floor it, but this old thing just can’t pull it off."

He chuckled lightly, but the laugh died when he caught how tight her jaw was set. After that, he just drove in silence.

The taxi pulled up to a run-down old apartment building. Zara scrambled out and bolted straight into the complex.

Once she rounded a corner and was sure the tail was gone, she pressed her back to the drab, peeling brick, gasping for deep, shaky breaths.

She called her manager at the library to take the afternoon off, climbed the creaky stairs to the fourth floor, and jammed her key into the lock of her tiny rental.

*CRASH!*

The sound of porcelain shattering made her heart lurch into her throat. She dropped everything and sprinted straight for the kitchen.

Her mom, Jennifer Price, was leaning against the sink, a fork clutched in one hand, breathing hard like she’d run a mile.

Zara hurried to help her to the lumpy worn couch in the living room, rubbing her back to help her catch her breath.

"Mom, didn’t I tell you not to cook by yourself? You can just order in with the number I gave you," Zara said.

When Jennifer finally got her breath back, guilt softened her voice, "There were leftovers. I didn’t see the point in wasting money. Besides, takeout’s not that good for you anyway."

Zara sat down beside her, voice soft and steady, "I make enough money. The job Dr. Spencer got me is easy, and it pays great. Takeout doesn’t break the bank, I promise."

A pale, thin hand settled over Zara’s. Jennifer sighed, "Zara, baby… your mom’s just been such a weight on you, hasn’t she?"

"Don’t say that. I’ll cook, just sit here and rest, okay?" Zara slipped her hand out of her mom’s and headed back to the kitchen.

As she chopped vegetables, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The knife slipped, nicking the tip of her finger deep.

She gasped, yanking her hand back and holding it under cold running water before wrapping it in a paper towel and going right back to chopping.

By the time dinner was on the table, she spotted a stack of vitamin boxes sitting by her mom’s plate. Her brow furrowed, "Mom, where’d these come from?"

Jennifer paused mid-bite with her fork, like she’d forgotten all about them, "Oh! Ethan dropped those off earlier. He even tried to give me a debit card, but I wouldn’t take it."

Zara took a bite of rice, chewed, and said after a minute, "I told you not to take anything from Dr. Spencer. These vitamins aren’t cheap, and he’s already done so much for us."

Jennifer set her fork down and scooted closer to Zara on the couch they used as a dining bench, "Zara, Ethan’s such a good man. You know he likes you, right?"

A heavy weight settled in Zara’s chest. She kept her eyes on her plate and kept eating, "I know. But I’m not good enough for him."

"What do you mean, not good enough?"

Indignation heated Jennifer’s voice, "You used to sell your paintings for thousands! You were the talented Powell girl, everyone in Brooklyn knew your name! That heartless bastard had every girl throwing herself at him, and he still picked you—"

"Don’t mention him!" Zara cut in sharply, her whole body shaking.

She forced herself to calm down, then lifted her eyes to meet Jennifer’s, soft voice steady now, "Mom, it wasn’t my paintings that were worth anything. It was the Powell name, back when we still had money. The Powells are gone now. There’s no such thing as a ‘Powell heiress’ anymore."

Jennifer’s eyes glistened with tears, "My baby’s talented. You’re gold— you shine no matter where you are. You deserve someone like Ethan, someone good—"

Zara put a flaky piece of white fish in her mom’s bowl, cutting her off gently, "Mom, that’s enough. Dr. Spencer is kind, he’s respectable, he comes from a good family. If I accept his gifts, or his feelings, it’s just taking advantage. Promise me you won’t take anything from him again, okay?"

Jennifer didn’t push it any further. The rest of dinner dragged by in thick, heavy silence.

After Zara finished washing the dishes, she walked back to the bedroom and found Jennifer sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at a sheaf of papers. She quickly stuffed them behind her back when she saw Zara walk in.

Over the past two years, Jennifer had been plagued by one health issue after another. Zara knew exactly what those papers were the second she walked in the door.

"The diagnosis came back? Did Dr. Spencer bring it?"

Zara stepped closer, a cold sinking feeling settling deep in her gut.

She already knew it wasn’t good news.

Jennifer clutched the papers tighter behind her back, shaking her head nervously, "Everything’s fine, baby. All normal, nothing serious."

Zara nodded, looked away for half a second, then quickly lunged and snatched the papers right out of her mom’s hand.

When she read what was printed on the page, her face drained of all color, turning ashen as ash.

Jennifer reached out for the papers, then pulled her hand back. Zara’s face said it all— she’d seen the truth.

They sat in dead silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Zara whispered the word that hung over both of them like a shadow, "Leukemia?"

Jennifer grabbed Zara’s arm, anxious and rushing to soothe her, "Zara, it’s okay! Dr. Spencer said it’s caught early, it’s not that bad. We can just treat it with medication first."

Zara’s hand clenched the paper so tight her knuckles went bone white. After a long minute, she sat down next to Jennifer and met her eyes.

"Mom, we’re admitting you right away. No matter how much it costs, we’re going to get you better. In a couple years, when Dad gets out, we’ll all be healthy and whole again, just like before."

Jennifer’s voice choked up, tears rolling down her cheeks, "I won’t go. We’ve dumped every penny we have into hospitals all these years. You want to work yourself to the bone for me?"

Zara started folding clothes into a duffel bag, her voice calm and unshakable, "I’ll figure out the money. If I lose you, I really have nothing left to live for."

Once Jennifer was checked in, Zara sat down with Ethan. He told her medication and chemo would be the first step; if that didn’t work, they’d need a bone marrow transplant.

By the time all the paperwork and admissions were done, dusk had painted the sky purple and gold.

After Jennifer fell asleep after her initial tests, Zara left Ethan’s office and wandered to the big window at the end of the hospital corridor, staring out at the city lights twinkling below.

At night, this city was all glitter and grit tangled together.

Some people partied all night long, throwing money around like it was water. Other people fought just to make it to the next day, where even waking up breathing felt like a luxury.

Zara pulled her gaze away from the skyline, fished in the pocket of her jacket, pulled out the business card someone had handed her at the library, dialed the number printed on it, and waited for someone to pick up.