Rising From Ashes: The Swapped Heiress

The smell of stale dust and old blood clung to the back of Haven's throat. She sat on the sagging cushions of the thrift-store sofa, her fingers digging so hard into the matted fur of Leo's teddy bear that her knuckles turned a translucent white. Her chest heaved, pulling in shallow, jagged breaths that did nothing to fill her burning lungs. The physical ache in her chest was a living thing, clawing at her ribs from the inside out.

The heavy wooden door of the apartment shoved open. The deadbolt splintered against the frame, sending a shower of cheap wood shavings onto the linoleum floor.

A blast of freezing December wind ripped through the room, stealing the last bit of warmth from Haven's skin.

Preston stepped over the threshold. He didn't bother to close the door. His dark eyes, the ones that used to look at her with something resembling warmth, were flat and dead. He stared down at her, his jaw set in a hard line.

He reached into his tailored overcoat, pulled out a thick stack of crisp white papers, and slammed them onto the scratched surface of the coffee table. The sharp smack echoed off the peeling wallpaper.

Gloria stepped out from behind Preston's broad shoulders.

Haven's stomach dropped. Her gaze locked onto the hollow of Gloria's collarbone. Resting against the flawless, spray-tanned skin was a teardrop diamond necklace. Haven's necklace. The one her adoptive mother had saved for ten years to buy her.

Gloria's manicured fingers drifted up, lightly tracing the edge of the diamond. Her lips curled into a glossy, pitying smile.

"You couldn't even keep a sick kid alive, Haven," Gloria said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Did you really think you could keep a husband?"

The words hit Haven like a physical blow to the sternum. Her lungs seized. The edges of her vision blurred with a hot, blinding red.

"Sign the papers, Haven," Preston ordered. His voice was a low, mechanical drone. "You get nothing. Consider it the price for your negligence."

Haven didn't speak. Her throat was too tight, swollen with a scream she refused to let out. She dropped the teddy bear. Her shaking hands reached for the divorce agreement.

She gripped the thick stack of papers. With a violent jerk of her wrists, she tore them straight down the middle. The sound of ripping paper was loud, violent, and deeply satisfying. She threw the torn halves at Preston's expensive leather shoes.

Preston's face flushed a dark, ugly purple. He lunged forward.

His open palm cracked against Haven's cheekbone. The force of the slap snapped her head to the side. A sharp, metallic taste flooded her mouth. The skin of her cheek burned, the pain instantly vaporizing the heavy fog of her grief, leaving behind a razor-sharp rage.

Haven grabbed the half-empty glass water pitcher from the end table. She didn't hesitate. She hurled it straight down at Preston's feet.

The heavy glass shattered against the floorboards. Shards exploded outward, slicing through the fabric of Preston's trousers.

Preston stumbled backward, his hands flying up defensively. The sheer, unhinged wildness in Haven's eyes made him freeze.

"Get out!" Haven screamed, the sound tearing her vocal cords raw. She pointed a trembling finger at the open doorway. "Get the hell out of my house!"

Gloria let out a high-pitched gasp, shrinking back and clutching Preston's bicep.

"Let's just go, Preston," Gloria whispered, her eyes wide with feigned terror. "She's completely lost her mind."

Preston gritted his teeth, stepping carefully over the broken glass. He let Gloria pull him out into the hallway. The heavy door slammed shut behind them, the impact rattling the cheap picture frames on the walls.

Haven's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the floor, the rough wood scraping her bare legs. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, gasping for air, her whole body shaking violently.

A soft, rhythmic knocking tapped against the wood of the door.

Haven's breath hitched. She thought they had come back.

She pressed her palms against the floor, forcing her trembling legs to push her upright. She marched to the door and yanked it open.

Jerilyn stood in the hallway. Her biological mother.

Jerilyn pushed past Haven without a word, her cheap perfume masking the smell of the cold hallway. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the broken glass and the torn papers, her upper lip curling in disgust.

"You stupid girl," Jerilyn spat, dropping her worn tote bag onto the sofa. "You should have signed the papers. You could have taken the alimony. Now you have nothing."

A cold sweat broke out on the back of Haven's neck. The way Jerilyn spoke-the absolute certainty in her voice.

"You knew," Haven whispered, her vocal cords tight. "You're with them."

The betrayal felt like acid burning through her veins.

"Get out," Haven said, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. She shoved Jerilyn's shoulder toward the door.

Jerilyn's eyes flashed with a sudden, feral malice. Her hand plunged into the open top of her tote bag.

Metal flashed under the dim overhead light.

The blade sank deep into Haven's abdomen.

The pain was absolute. It tore through muscle and tissue, a blinding, white-hot agony that sucked the oxygen straight out of the room. Haven's mouth opened in a silent scream. Her hands flew to her stomach, her fingers instantly slick with hot, thick blood.

She collapsed backward, hitting the floor hard.

Jerilyn crouched over her. She leaned in close, her breath smelling of stale coffee and cigarettes.

"You were never supposed to have anything," Jerilyn hissed, her voice a harsh whisper against Haven's ear. "I swapped you in that hospital. Gloria is my blood. She belongs in that mansion. You belong in the dirt."

Haven's pupils dilated. The shock of the words hit harder than the blade. Gloria. The fake.

Jerilyn ripped the knife out and drove it down again.

Haven's vision fractured. The pain peaked, then rapidly faded into a numb, terrifying cold. The darkness rushed in, swallowing the room, swallowing the face of the woman who birthed her, leaving only a roaring, deafening hatred echoing in her skull.

A piercing, mechanical ringing sound shattered the darkness.

A blinding white light hit Haven's retinas.

She gasped, her lungs expanding violently as she sucked in a massive breath of air. Her eyes snapped open.

She wasn't on the blood-soaked floor. She was sitting at a wooden desk. The smell of No. 2 pencils and floor wax filled her nose. The sharp ringing of the high school dismissal bell echoed through the classroom.