The CEO's Captive Bride

Made of Ashes

Chapter 12: Made of Ashes

I walked out without looking back. The air outside was cold, but I didn't care. All I wanted to do was to be away from that house. Those snakes, the stares, and the whispers.

My heels tapped against the driveway as I headed towards the car.

Thank God the driver was still there. He opened the door without a word. I got in, sat down, and shut my eyes for a second.

Why did he bring me here?

For his mother to teach me classism at its peak?

Did he tell them it was all fake?

I leaned my head back against the seat, eyes fixed on nothing. I didn't cry, at least not now. I just stared at the roof like it would give me any answers.

A few minutes passed by, or maybe more. Footsteps. Then the soft click of the door opening. Adrian slid into the passenger seat beside me and closed the door gently.

The ride back was silent.

No music. No words. He just kept quiet like nothing happened back there or as if everything that happened was absolutely normal. Why was I even expecting anything humane from him? At least today's encounter proved one thing to me. An apple never falls far from its tree.

The car slowed in front of the house.

As soon as the engine was turned off, I opened the door and stepped out. I walked straight into the house, barefoot, holding my shoes in one hand. I pushed the door open gently and walked in. Up the stairs, past the hallway, into my room.

I closed the door softly and stood there for a second before my legs finally gave way. Knees to my chest. Head against the wall.

Finally, I let it all out.

Not loud sobs. Just quiet ones that pressed against my throat. How I kept my composure this long is a mystery. No one deserved to see me cry like this.

Today was one of those days I remembered my parents. The accident. The way everything changed overnight. One moment they were a happy couple going for an evening drive and the next?

Nothing.

Just like that, I was fourteen again.

Eli was barely eight.

I remember the way my aunt looked at me when she said it. Not even a bit of hesitation or respect for her late sister.

"I'm sorry, Reina," she said. Her hands folded tight on the kitchen table.

"I can't take care of kids. Like I never signed up for it."

"Did we sign up for their death either? Aunt Maria, you're the only family we have. Please don't do this to us."

"Reina, it's not an issue pleading can solve. I can't do it. Certainly not for two of you."

Two of us? As if Eli and I were a burden.

"You're all we have left," I whispered. My voice barely audible. "You're… you're our family."

"Yes, and I'll help how I can, but I'm not cut out to be a mother. I never was."

Eli sat beside me, kicking his legs softly under the table. He didn't understand what was happening yet. He was still too young. He probably thought this was just another sleepover until mom and dad returned.

"So what do we do? And where would we stay?"

"The government would handle that."

"What? Foster care? We can't get separated," I said, my voice cracked.

"Please don't let them split us up."

"I don't have a choice," she said quietly. "They'll find you both good homes."

But what was the point of a "good" home if we weren't together?

That night, I lay awake on the mattress in the spare room, my arms around Eli as he slept. I didn't even know what I felt towards her.

Was it anger?

Was it pain?

Was it panic?

They'd already scheduled our case for review. We'd be placed in a matter of days.

We may be lucky to be with the same family. But… what if we weren't?

That meant different homes. Different families. Maybe even different towns.

They'd take Eli away from me.

And I could not let that happen.

I waited until I heard my aunt’s bedroom door shut. Waited longer, just in case. Then I slowly eased out from under the blanket, careful not to wake Eli up. I pulled my backpack from the closet and began stuffing it with whatever I could find. A water bottle, a pack of cookies, a flashlight, a blanket.

Then I crouched beside Eli and gently shook him.

"Hey," I whispered. "Little one… wake up."

He stirred, blinking sleepily. "Is it morning?"

"No," I said, lifting him into a sitting position. "We're going on a little trip."

He looked at me, confused but nodded. "Okay."

I zipped his jacket up to his chin and pulled my hoodie over my head. Then we crept down the hallway, past the closed bedroom doors and slipped out the back.

The streets were quiet. It was freezing cold that night. I didn't know where we were going. Just away. Away from separation. Away from the system.

That night, we slept behind a grocery store. I laid my backpack down for Eli to rest his head on and wrapped my hoodie around him. The ground was damp. My legs ached. But I held him close and reassured him that we'd be okay.

By the fifth night, we were tired, dirty, and hungry. He didn't complain. Just leaned against me and asked every few hours, "Are we there yet?"

I didn't know where "There" was.

We found a church. An old one, tucked between two apartment buildings.

The side door was unlocked. The pews were wooden and uncomfortable, but they were indoors and the space was warm. The silence didn't feel scary. It felt sacred. Like the church itself had opened its arms to shelter us.

"Are we going to stay here?" he asked softly.

"For tonight," I whispered.

"Will mum and dad find us here?"

I swallowed hard and kissed the top of his head. "Maybe." I lied.

And then, for the first time in days, we slept somewhat peacefully.

I didn't remember falling asleep. Just the warmth of Eli beside me, the smell of old wood and candle wax.

There were voices. Soft ones, layered over the sounds of a mop bucket rolling across the tile. A woman singing. A man giving gentle instructions. Footsteps.

And then a girl's voice. Maybe about my age.

"Dad, there's someone sleeping here."

I didn't open my eyes. Part of me hoped they'd go away. That if I stayed still long enough we might melt into the bench like ghosts. But the voices came close.

A pause. Then soft careful footsteps.

"Hey…" the girl's voice again. This time, lower. "Are you okay?"

I opened my eyes.

She was crouched beside me. Brown skin, dark curly hair pulled into a ponytail. She didn't look disgusted like I expected her to be.

Eli was still curled beside me. His small fingers wrapped around the edge of my sleeve.

"I—" I sat up slowly. "We just needed somewhere to sleep but we'll leave now."

The girl glanced at her parents. Her mom stopped mopping. Her dad stepped closer. I could see the concern written on their faces.

"Are you alone?" her dad asked.

I shook my head. "This is my little brother."

"Where are your parents?" the woman asked softly.

I hesitated, then said, "Gone."

There was silence after that. A thick kind. The girl sat beside me on the pew.

"I'm Naomi," she said like we weren't total strangers meeting in a church. "Do you want something to eat?"

I nodded.

She stood and walked off with her mom, and a minute later they returned with a lunchbox. Slices of banana bread, two apples, and a juice box.

Her dad started making calls. We just sat there, unsure what was happening. But at the same time, I felt it was safe.

Later that morning, after the pews had been wiped and the sun shone fully through the stained-glass windows, Naomi sat beside me again.

She didn't ask anything. She just said, "You can sit with me during service if you'd like. It's long, but the music is really lovely."

And I did. I sat with her.

Her parents did everything our only family couldn't do. They made the calls. Signed the forms. Talked to those people. And when it became clear there were no more relatives, no one else willing to take us in, they took us home.

Today wasn't just about the classism or the whispers. It reminded me of another time I felt completely unwanted.