O Magnata e seu desejo pelas curvas da arte

Ruby's POV

Life has to be kidding me right now.

The smell of antiseptic hit me the moment I walked into the hospital. I hated it. I hated everything about this place. Most of all, I hated the feeling in my gut that something was terribly wrong.

Doctor Sheila's call woke me up this morning, asking me to rush down to the hospital as fast as possible. The receptionist barely glanced at me as she handed over the phone. I had to call the doctor again, I had to know.

“Ruby, your mother needs surgery immediately.” Her voice was calm, too calm. I gripped the phone tighter, my heart beating very fast.

Doctor Sheila, one of the best doctors in Chicago, was hard to see face-to-face. I wanted to meet with her, kneel in front of her and beg for mercy.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and spoke again. “How much?” I already knew it wasn't good, but I needed to hear it.

“Five hundred thousand dollars.” She said it as if it were a normal amount of money.

“Five hundred thousand?” I repeated, tears forming in my eyes. The air seemed to vanish from my lungs. How would I even get that kind of money?

“If you don't settle the bill, we can't proceed,” Doctor Sheila continued, her voice laced with concern. “Your mother's condition is worsening.”

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. Five hundred thousand dollars. That was the price of my mother's life. Money I didn't have. Money I couldn't get. Not without help. But there was no one.

“I'll get the money.” I muttered, though I didn't believe my own words. “Just… just give me time.”

“Ruby, time is something your mother doesn't have.” The line went dead. The phone slipped from my hand, clattering on that floor. I didn't bother to pick it up. It didn't matter.

I scurried out of the hospital as tears stung my eyes, but I fought them back. I couldn't break down. Not now, not in public.

My mother needed me, and I was all she had left. But what could I do, I was barely making enough to pay for rent and food. Every penny I earned went to the hospital. And now they wanted five hundred thousand more?

I looked left and right before crossing the road, clenching my fist. This was all his fault. My father. The one who walked out on us. He should have been the one to take care of things, to protect us.

Instead, he left us for another woman with a perfect daughter. And now my mother was lying in a hospital bed, dying.

I remembered that day like it was yesterday. I had just got back from work, when I found my mother coughing out a lot of blood. She was lying on the floor, fighting for her life. If I hadn't walked in at that moment, I might have lost my precious mother to the hands of my wicked stepmother and her daughter.

I called for help, but there was no one else in the house. My father had run away with them, leaving my mother to die. I managed to rush my mother to the hospital, and the doctor diagnosed poison.

What a wicked world.

I reached my apartment, my breath coming out in heavy gasps. The door was slightly opened, which was strange. I didn't leave it open when I left, did I?

I pushed it open slowly, stepping inside. Something wasn't right. The air was thick, heavy with something I couldn't name. I could hear my heart thudding in my chest.

The only person who could have entered was no other than my dad. He must have had a key before leaving that day.

“Dad?” I called, even though I hadn't seen him in years. My voice echoed through the empty hallway. Silence.

Then I heard it, a loud bang. Like something heavy falling. My heart leaped into my throat.

“Dad?” I called again, my voice trembling this time. I hurried down the hallway, a knot tightening in my stomach.

I reached the living room and froze.

My father was on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, lifeless.

“No.” The world barely escaped my lips. My lips trembled. My father was dead. He was actually dead. Before I could scream, I noticed them. Two men dressed in black suits stood over his body. They were hefty, their faces cold and fierce.

One of them had a gun as he smoked a cigarette. They were the ones who killed him. My breath caught in my throat. Fear slithered through my spine, and I couldn't move. My mind screamed at me to run, but my feet were rooted to the spot.

“Who- who are you?” I stuttered, my voice trembling.

The man with the gun looked at me, his gaze making my skin crawl. He didn't say a word. He just lifted his gun and before I could think, he fired.

Oh God. I thought I was going to die. No. I thought I had died. I turned my head and saw that it was the wall he shot. I was in deep trouble.

As I was about to run out of the sitting room, something sharp hit my neck and I froze. I slapped a hand to the spot, feeling a tiny dart. A tranquilizer. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to the floor, my body growing weaker by the second.

“No…” I whimpered, my vision blurring. The room spun as darkness closed in.

The last thing I saw was my father's bloodstained face. And then everything went black.