Brianna POV
The rain mercilessly lashed down, soaking my thin cocktail dress. My designer heels, bought with such hopeful excitement, slipped on the wet pavement. Each step was a struggle, my hair plastered to my face, mascara streaking down my cheeks like war paint. The chill cut through me, but it was nothing compared to the icy despair that gripped my heart. Cars zoomed past, their headlights briefly illuminating my pathetic figure before vanishing into the night. Pedestrians, huddled under umbrellas, gave me wide, wary looks—pity and judgment. I was a spectacle, exactly what I had always feared.
"Fool," I muttered, my teeth chattering. "Such a fool."
Memories surfaced. My mother, Eleanor Moore, once a respected interior designer, had become a pariah eighteen years ago. Her glittering career imploded in a spectacular financial scandal. She had invested heavily in a shady real estate venture, leveraging clients' funds and our family assets, all in a desperate attempt to outmaneuver her ambitious business rival, Julian Hayes. But Julian caught wind of her scheme. He leaked the truth to the press, exposing her fraudulent dealings.
The scandal erupted with devastating force. My mother's name was dragged through every tabloid. Clients lost millions. A major investor, an older man who had poured his life savings into her firm, suffered a massive heart attack and died shortly after the news broke. My mother, once celebrated, was now reviled as a criminal and, worse, a killer.
She and I moved to a small, isolated town. But the internet never forgets. When I was in high school, old news articles resurfaced. The story went viral again. The relentless cyberbullying pushed her to the brink. One rainy morning, she ended her life. Her note apologized for the shame and begged me to escape her legacy.
I became "the daughter of that woman." Whispers followed me everywhere. Classmates left hateful messages on my locker: "Like mother, like daughter." Others would "accidentally" spill drinks on me, then mock my wet clothes. "Careful, don't want to ruin your next scam." The worst was: "You'll end up just like her. A fraud. Alone."
Then Ashton Hampton entered my life. He was a senior from a respected family. One day, he saw bullies pelting me with paper balls. He strode over and dismantled their arguments with calm, logical words. "Her mother's actions are not her own," he said. "Do you truly believe a child is born guilty of a parent's sins?" His words, intellectual and measured, disarmed them. They faltered, mumbled, and eventually dispersed.
Slowly, the harassment lessened. Ashton walked me to class, brought me coffee before exams, remembered my favorite order without me asking. He made me feel seen—not as the daughter of a scandal, but as Brianna. My heart, bruised and guarded, unfurled for him. He had been my salvation. I never questioned his motives. I never imagined he would one day become the source of my destruction.
Now, standing drenched in the rain, I couldn't comprehend how that savior had become my tormentor. How the man who swore to protect me had weaponized my deepest wound. The incongruity was a fresh agony. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the wet pavement. Darkness swallowed me whole.
I awoke to the antiseptic smell of a hospital room. The soft hum of medical equipment filled the air. My arm felt heavy, a cool IV dripping into my vein. The sheets were crisp, white—a stark contrast to the grimy street where I had collapsed. My head throbbed.
A kind-faced nurse checked my vitals. "You're stable now, dear. Just need rest and quiet. You've been through a shock."
"Thank you," I murmured.
Just then, my phone vibrated. Ashton's name lit the screen. I hesitated, then answered.
"Brianna," his voice came through, devoid of its usual charm. "I need you to do something. Kiley left her favorite emerald brooch at the apartment. She needs it for the gala tonight. Can you drop it off at the venue? The security will know to let you in."
Kiley. The name echoed. Her favorite emerald brooch—Ashton had presented it to her at a company dinner, a grand gesture. I also remembered a silver locket he had given me years ago, engraved with our initials. He had called it a symbol of our unbreakable bond. Now he treated me like an errand girl.
"I'm in the hospital," I stated flatly. "I collapsed last night."
A beat of silence. Then, his voice hard and impatient. "Don't be dramatic, Brianna. You're fine. I need that brooch. If Kiley doesn't have it, she'll be furious. You wouldn't want to jeopardize my reputation, would you?"
A cold calm settled over me. This was it—the last thread of obligation I would ever feel toward him. I owed him for pulling me out of the darkness all those years ago. This would be the last time I let him use that debt against me.
"Fine," I said. "I'll do it."
I called the nurse to remove the IV. She frowned, concerned, but I insisted.
The rain had intensified, turning the city into a blurred watercolor. I hailed a cab, retrieved the brooch from my empty apartment, and arrived at the glittering gala venue. Ashton's words replayed: "Kiley will be at the entrance. She'll thank you."
I stepped out into the cold air. Kiley stood under the awning, a vision in a shimmering emerald gown that perfectly matched the brooch. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, locked onto mine.
As I approached, she smiled—a thin, cruel line. "You made it," she purred.
I extended my hand with the brooch. Instead of taking it, she lashed out, shoving me hard in the chest. I stumbled, losing my balance. The emerald brooch flew from my grasp, skittering across the polished floor and shattering against a pillar.
Kiley's face instantly contorted into a mask of distress. "Oh, Ashton!" she wailed. "Look what she's done! She ruined it! My beautiful brooch!" She pointed a trembling finger at the shattered pieces, then at me. "She threw it down! She must be so jealous, so resentful!"
I stared at her, my mind reeling. Jealous?
Just then, the grand doors swung open. Ashton emerged. "Kiley, what's wrong?"
Kiley pointed at the shattered pieces, then at me. "She ruined it! She's so bitter!"
Ashton's gaze flickered from the broken brooch to my stunned face. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't even pause. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm with a force that made me wince.
"What is wrong with you, Brianna?" he hissed. "Apologize to Kiley! Now!"
A bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled up from my throat. "Did you even ask what happened?"
Kiley, still nestled against Ashton, sniffled. "I did push her, Ashton. But she was being so aggressive, so threatening. I just reacted. My temper—you know it's a bit fiery. Like a dragon lily. But she shouldn't have thrown the brooch!"
Ashton's arm tightened around Kiley's waist. He looked at her with an adoration that sickened me. "It's alright, my dragon lily. You did nothing wrong." He glanced at me, his eyes cold and accusing. "Apologize, Brianna."
Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the cold rain. But beneath the despair, a tiny spark ignited—defiance, resilience, the promise I had made to myself never to become my mother.
"I... I apologize," I forced out. The words tasted like ash.
Kiley preened. "Oh, that's not enough. I want you to admit what you are. Publicly. Say you're Ashton's discarded lover. Say your mother's past made you unsuitable for a true wife. Say you were nothing more than a cheap thrill."
The words struck like a thousand needles. But I found my voice. "No," I said, gaining strength. "I am not that person. And Ashton and I are finished."
With trembling fingers, I twisted off my engagement ring. The diamond, once a symbol of everything I had hoped for, felt heavy. I held it out to Ashton. "This is yours. Our engagement is over."
He didn't move. The ring fell from my grasp, bouncing once and rolling to a stop near the shattered brooch.
Kiley grabbed my arm, her nails digging in. "You think you can just walk away?" She pulled me into full view of arriving guests. "Look at her! Ashton's scandalous ex-fiancée, trying to crash our party! A woman just like her mother!"
Whispers started. "Isn't that Brianna Moore? The daughter of that Eleanor Moore?" "What's she doing here?" "Like mother, like daughter."
Ashton stepped forward, pulling Kiley close. "Brianna and I are no longer together," he announced. "Kiley is my fiancée now. My true partner."
Kiley clung to him. "She even tried to hurt herself for sympathy earlier! But Ashton, bless his heart, wouldn't fall for her tricks!"
A sharp sting on my cheek—a splash of red wine. Then more liquid. Champagne, water, juice—hurled by the growing crowd. Someone emptied a bowl of punch over my head. Sticky, sweet liquid matted my hair, dripped down my dress. I stood there, a human target.
Kiley, nestled in Ashton's arms, watched with a triumphant smile. Ashton's face remained impassive—a statue, a silent accomplice.
A hard shove sent me sprawling onto the cold marble floor. Kicks followed—to my back, my sides, my legs. I curled into a fetal position, shielding my head. This was what my mother had endured. The public shaming, the brutal dehumanization. I had sworn I would never follow her path. But now it was happening anyway.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. I would not succumb. I scrambled to my feet, my soaked dress heavy, my body aching. I ran.
I ran past the bewildered security guards, toward the elevators. I pressed the button for the highest floor. Ashton's voice, laced with panic, echoed behind me. "Brianna! Stop! Don't do it! Don't be like her!"
The elevator doors opened. I burst out onto the rooftop. The wind whipped around me. Rain lashed my face. The helipad was illuminated. A sleek, black helicopter waited, its blades slowly rotating. Caryl. She had come. A ladder descended from the belly of the machine.
I didn't hesitate. I grasped the cold metal and started to climb. Each rung was a step away from the nightmare, a step toward a new life.
