Chapter 4

Richard and Eleanor rushed Serena to the hospital.

"Where is the doctor? My daughter hurt her ankle! Get us your best specialist right now!"

The genuine worry on their faces pierced my heart.

I wiped my tears and tried to follow them inside, but the security guard blocked me.

"Get lost, street rat. No begging allowed here."

I shook my head frantically.

"I'm not a beggar. The people who just walked in are my parents and my sister."

The guard looked me up and down and sneered.

"You, related to them? They're wearing designer clothes. Look at yourself."

I looked down.

A ripped t-shirt, muddy jeans, covered in dirt and blood.

I looked exactly like a homeless person. I didn't belong to that family at all.

My chest felt suffocated.

But the pain in my hand was getting worse. I peered past the guard.

"Richard! Eleanor! I'm here! My hand hurts!"

They heard my voice. They turned around, gave me one cold, indifferent look, and kept walking.

I froze in place.

Something inside me snapped.

The guard threw me out of the hospital plaza.

I sat on the concrete steps, numb.

A sharp throb in my palm pulled me back to reality.

It was my right hand. I needed to study. I had to get into college.

Education was the only escape I had left.

Panic seized me.

I used the last of my pocket change to buy some rubbing alcohol and cheap gauze from a dollar store.

I roughly bandaged my own wound.

But between the chronic malnutrition and the blood loss, the world began to spin.

Everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in the small, humid servants' quarters back at the estate.

It was so hot.

Shadows danced in front of my eyes.

Then, a familiar voice spoke. I realized who was beside me.

"Sienna... are you okay?"

My lips were cracked. I was burning up with a fever.

It wasn't Eleanor.

A wave of bitter disappointment washed over me.

I shook my head weakly.

"Thank you, Martha."

After a while, my head felt heavier.

Through the haze, I heard Martha on her phone.

"Ma'am, Sienna is in really bad shape. Her fever is 104 degrees. We need to get her to a hospital!"

Hearing Eleanor's name, I forced my heavy eyelids open.

But Eleanor's cold voice came through the speaker.

"She's not that fragile. She's probably just faking it to get attention.

"She's not our daughter anymore anyway. Martha, don't you dare spend a penny of our money on her."

A tear slipped down my temple, drying instantly against my burning skin.

Martha ended up taking me to a shady, cheap clinic down the street.

But she didn't dare pay for me. She didn't want to lose her job.

"Kid, you're finally awake. A little later, and you would've been a goner," the old doctor, Dr. Evans, said as he pulled out my IV.

"Thank you."

He grabbed my arm tightly. His grip was painful.

"You think you can just leave? 'Thank you' doesn't pay the medical bills."

I bit my lip.

"I don't have money. And I don't have a family."

My eyes flickered to a sketchy flyer on his wall advertising clinical trials. I looked away, then forced myself to look back.

My voice shook, but I was desperate.

"I can test your experimental drugs."