Betrayed By Rejected Lover, Married A Billionaire

Bernards Residence, a 2-bedroom Condo in Malvis town, a middle-class area of New York City. Jane Bernard, sickly, was gripping scissors and cutting a dress. Catherine rushed into their sitting room that doubled as her Mum’s Tailoring Workshop. “Mum stop this. Have you forgotten Dr Drummond's advice? Don't wear yourself out. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you.” Jane stopped for a while and thought about her daughter's fear; smiling, she replied. “I am fine, Catherine.” She raised her frail right arm and contracted her tiny biceps. “See, your mother is still strong. I can't let you carry the burden of earning the surgery money alone.” Catherine wasn't carried away by her argument. Frowning, she asked. “Mum, do you believe in dreams?” She didn't wait to hear her reply and continued talking. “Mum, I had a nasty dream last night. In it, tubes were passed into your nostrils and mouth. I am scared” Although Jane was terrified, she reassured her daughter with a faint smile. “Dreams are usually opposite to reality. You might not know this, but our fears influence our dreams. Stop worrying nothing will happen to your mother.” As if to prove her comments wrong, Jane slumped and fainted. Catherine, eyes wide with fright, rushed to her mother's side and tried to raise her. “ Mum get up.” Jane didn't move. Confused, she reached for her smartphone, lying on top of a stool beside the settee and dialed 911 Emergency Rescue for an ambulance. … At the operations theater of the Ever Care Specialist Hospital. Dr. Drummond, a top Heart Surgeon in his late fifties, wearing a sparkling white lab coat, was examining Catherine’s mother. Catherine waited for the sad prognosis, her heartbeat increasing like a contestant in a marathon race, running uphill. Although her mother was in the emergency theater for a short time, it seemed like an eternity to Catherine. After a careful examination, Dr. Drummond frowned, with a grim expression. “Catherine, your Mum urgently needs heart surgery. If we do it early, she might live a longer and healthier life." Catherine wasn't shocked. She eagerly listened to learn more from her mother's doctor. Drummond, concerned, stared deeply into her eyes. "Hurry up and pay the seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars fee quickly so that we can do the operation soon.” When Catherine heard the doctor's last words, she knew she couldn’t afford to lose her mother. Involuntarily wringing her slender fingers and brow furrowed, she thought: ‘Where will l get that large amount of money?’ Suddenly, as if she had reached a turning point, she anxiously focused her attention on Drummond. “Doctor! How much time do I have to raise the money?” Dr. Drummond put his stethoscope away and looked at her. "Catherine! Not long. About fourteen days, else her condition will worsen.” Although Catherine was shocked, she learned through the years of toiling and pain without a father to mask her feelings. She assured the doctor. “Don’t worry Doctor, I’ll find the money.” … Catherine, back in their home, was walking to and fro and fidgeting with her long, silky raven hair. Tired and starting to have a headache from worrying, she sank onto the worn sofa in their small sitting room. In a flash, she had an idea and pulled out her smartphone from her handbag. Scrolling through the internet looking for a way out, abruptly, she discovered something. Catherine’s eyes lit up, and she yelled gleefully. “Could this be the solution?” It was an ad published by Ruben Hayward, a billionaire fashion design business mogul, which read: “Wanted! THE NEXT FASHION DESIGN TITAN. Submit 7 of your best designs and stand a chance of winning $1 Million Prize Money. Deadline, today. Email entry to rubenhayward@znapmail.com” She thought. ‘Today is the due date.’ Intently set on winning the prize, she promised herself: 'I must win the prize to save Mum. Yes! I’ll give it a try.' Then, unexpectedly, fear gripped her heart, threatening to destroy her resolve to compete. When that happened, the initial happiness and excitement she felt, faded like a wilted rose flower. Shoulders slumped, like a puppy whose master kicked her in the butt. She muttered: ‘What if my designs are not good enough? I know I try my best to create good designs." Her mind goes back to her time at college. "But wait a minute. None of my former classmates or lecturers ever told me my sketches were good. I can still hear them now: “Catherine, who admitted you into the Fashion Design Department? Your designs are average? “You have no talent. What trashy design is this?” “You have no future in fashion design. Do yourself a favor, go to another department.” After memories of criticisms from her college professors came tumbling into the present, her face was like a white sheet. Balling her fists, she cried out as if trying to silence her inner critic: “What else can I do to save my mother? I just can’t let her die. No! She has suffered so much for me; paying my tuition, feeding and loving me.” Then, as if a movie was switched on by a force beyond her control, her mind veered into her love life. Grimacing, she gave vent to her fears. ‘Even true love is elusive to me. At my age, I am yet to find a man who would truly love me and make my heart flutter.' Moved by her pathetic melancholic state and lost in thought. She continued muttering. ‘Catherine, wake up! Who would even love you with no money, without beautiful clothing, and no job? Worse still, you aren’t pretty.’ At this time, shocked at the trajectory her thoughts were taking, and as if just remembering the subject she should be thinking about, ashamed, she blurted aloud. "Why am I even thinking about love right now? Finding a way to save my mother should be my ultimate goal today. I think I’ll give that fashion design competition a try, even though I know I might not win the first prize. Yes, I’ll submit an entry and see what happens. Who knows, I might get a lucky break for Mum’s sake." Once she arrived at that decision, Catherine rushed into their bedroom, reached inside a drawer beside the bed, pulled out her fashion design sketchbook, skimmed through the designs, and selected seven of her best sketches. She used the smartphone to capture digital pictures of those seven best designs and emailed her entry quickly to beat the deadline which was expiring that evening. Just before she clicked the submit button, a sweet feeling of peace and happiness washed over her soul as if she had already won the prize money. Grinning contentedly, she sent her entry and exclaimed, ‘There! Now we are waiting.’ Would Catherine's boundless optimism give way to dismay when a ghost from her past rises to hunt her?