Chapter four
1073 Words
Yvonne
The rest of the day was worse than anything I could have imagined. By the time I left work, I had lost not only my new office but also my dignity. My salary, which had been doubled just a week ago, was slashed to below what I used to earn. The whispers and pointed comments from my colleagues followed me everywhere I went. It felt like I had been branded with a scarlet letter.
How was I supposed to pay my mother’s hospital bills now? Even with my previous salary it had been difficult, but this… this was impossible. Madison had completely disappeared, leaving me with rent I could no longer afford.
Could life get any worse?
I dragged myself off the bus and walked slowly toward our apartment building. When I opened the door, my heart dropped. The living room looked empty, bare. Most of the things Madison had brought into the apartment were gone.
I ran to her room. Empty. Drawers pulled out, closet bare, the faint scent of her perfume already fading. She had come back, gathered her things, and left.
Why?
We had been friends for years. I hadn’t noticed anything truly strange about her until a couple of days ago. Had she been planning this? Had I just been blind?
Madison had always been private, a locked box. All I knew was that her parents died just before she finished college. Beyond that, she never spoke much.
I slumped on the couch and buried my face in my hands. This was bad. Worse than bad.
---
The next morning I forced myself to get ready for work, but first I went to the hospital. My mother’s room was quiet, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor. She lay still, her skin pale, her hair spread like a halo on the pillow.
I sat down beside her bed. “Mom,” I whispered, “I don’t know what to do. My joy didn’t even last a week. They’ve cut my salary, I might not be able to pay your bills, and Madison has left me completely alone.”
My throat closed. If she could just wake up and tell me it would be all right. If she could hold me and tell me she was proud.
But there was nothing. Only the soft hiss of the oxygen and the faint smell of antiseptic.
I wiped my eyes quickly and stood. “I’ll figure something out,” I promised her, even though my voice trembled. “I’ll keep fighting for us.”
---
Walking into the office that day was like walking into a firing squad. I kept my head down and went straight to my cubicle. But Marinette was waiting.
“Did you see the news, Yvonne?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
I ignored her, hoping she would go away.
“It turns out the hospital you used for your DNA evidence completely denied ever running those tests,” she said in a tone that was equal parts delight and accusation. “Nathan Pierce released the real report proving he is, in fact, Jacob Pierce’s son. Your evidence was fake. Do you know what that means?”
Her words hit like bullets. My mouth went dry.
“You turned Quill Media into a laughingstock,” she continued. “If Nathan Pierce sues, the company might collapse. We could all lose our jobs because of your recklessness.”
I clenched my fists under the desk. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that I had believed the evidence was real, that I wasn’t reckless. But the bitter taste of defeat coated my tongue.
“Cat got your tongue?” Marinette snapped, then scoffed and walked away, leaving me staring at my blank computer screen.
My teeth sank into my lip to keep the tears from spilling.
---
The rest of the day crawled by in a haze. When I finally left the building, my legs felt like lead. On the bus home, I scrolled through job listings, though I knew no reputable media outlet would want to hire the journalist who had crossed Nathan Pierce.
The apartment was colder than usual when I walked in. The kitchen shelves were empty. Madison had always handled the groceries on Thursdays, but she wasn’t here anymore.
I checked my account. The balance was pathetic. My mother’s bill had already eaten up most of it. There wasn’t enough for rent, let alone food.
I shut the phone off and stared at the dark window.
I would go to bed hungry tonight.
---
Two weeks passed like a blur of sleepless nights and skipped meals. This was the worst period of my life, and I’d had my share of bad ones. My salary had barely lasted a week before the hospital drained it again.
If things continued like this, I would waste away before the month ended.
I had one option left. One I had sworn never to consider.
Beg Nathan Pierce for forgiveness.
That was how I found myself standing outside Pierce Enterprises. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to see him through the front desk several times. This time, I decided to wait by his car in the private parking lot.
Getting here had been a challenge of lies and sneaking. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. I had been standing for nearly an hour, waiting.
Please, let him come out.
Finally, footsteps echoed across the concrete. I looked up sharply.
Nathan Pierce was walking toward the car, a tall man beside him. The man spoke rapidly while Nathan looked distracted.
I recognized him immediately. Brian Foster. Everyone in New York’s elite circle knew him. Nathan’s best friend, his constant shadow since college.
They drew closer. I straightened my back, my hands trembling.
Nathan’s eyes flicked to mine. He frowned, stopping just a few feet away.
“Who are you,” he asked coolly, “and why are you here?”
The words cut deeper than I expected.
He didn’t even recognize me.
The woman whose life he had ruined. The journalist who had uncovered his supposed secret. The one who had been humiliated, blacklisted, and left with nothing.
My chest tightened, heat rushing to my face.
He didn’t remember me at all.
What kind of man destroys someone’s life and forgets them like yesterday’s news?
My heart pounded, my fingers curled into fists.
What the hell?
- Writer
