Survive Me, Darling

The fall from grace

OPHELIA.

Coffee shop, wet evening.

“It’s 6pm in Los Angeles and there have been reported cases of bodies found in dark alleys across several parts of the city…”

A news report was blaring on the TV hung on the wall adjacent to me.

Something I couldn't even be bothered about when I had my own life crisis playing out like a nightmare before my very eyes.

I leaned back into the table, fingers fiddling with the documents, about ten of them stapled together at the left edge. The more I flipped through each script the more my whole world blurred from the tears pooling in my eyes.

Alopecia. The word hung thick, heavy, and branded like a cursed logo on every single document, each letter coming alive to mock me with the devil's horn. This one word had my company trending in the worst ways for three days in a row.

I’d spent four years building ‘Veline Cosmetics’ into a multi-billion-dollar cosmetic and hair line company, famous and globally rising to New York’s top three fashion bulletin boards and the women's top three cosmetic choices only to watch it all crumble like a sick joke in less than twenty-four hours.

Potential brand investors were pulling out, my company’s shares had fallen by fifty percent overnight, customers were filing medical lawsuits, and people I owed PR money were clawing my throat for a refund.

Everything was crumbling to dust and pathetic me couldn’t do anything to save my dying company.

What's worse is that I’d fled to a local town hours away from the usual metropolitan city I lived in just to lay low and not risk getting detained by the police.

A bead of tears dropped from my eyes onto the paper when I blinked, forming a dark wet patch.

My phone chimed in my bag loudly and pulling myself together, I reached for the device.

A text from my father’s lawyer.

My stomach knotted unbearably and air clogged my chest. With stiff fingers, I opened the text without an idea of what I was really expecting—maybe a solution? Had he granted mercy on his child and paid my debts? I clung to false hope either way, anything but ‘Assets frozen until further investigation’

“No…” my voice came out distorted, my throat caught in a wracking sob.

With sweaty palms, I dialed my PA’s line. She picked up almost immediately as though she’d been expecting my call.

As soon as her voice came through, I slammed a palm down on the desk—The teacup clattered and heads turned to my direction with irritated side eyes.

Grabbing my bag, heels tapping cruelly like nails on gravel, I stormed out of there, ready to catch the next flight back home.

“It’s only temporary ma’am Ophelia” Jane said over the phone, voice firm and pleading.

But ‘temporary’ sounded like doom, more like the day this ends and I would be back to my normal life might never come. Ever.

“I'm coming home.” I pointed, hailing a cab.

“You can't. Every corner has the press on the lookout” she advised. “Your father swears he’ll turn you in himself if this affects his company likewise and it's not impossible to see that it’s already happening”

Once I was seated in the torn and itchy leather of the cab, eyes bulging from crying, makeup wiped off from my face, and nose running endlessly, reality began to set in.

Was this how I was going to lose everything?

From a proud, highly praised heiress to a castaway whose company hangs on the brink of bankruptcy.

I either resolved this or I might never be able to walk with my head held high in high-class societies anymore.

High-class societies my ass when I was about to face up to a decade in prison. If only I’d listened to my PA when these deadly chemicals were first detected in our newest products. If only I'd lowered my ego and read through her several emails about the suspicious agents who’d shipped in those products at a ridiculously discounted rate. If only I'd listened to my PR team who begged for a batch recall.

If only…

The cab pulled up at the hotel I was lying low in. I stepped out of the cab with the ghost of my past mistakes glorifying my essence like a rotten halo.

“Ma’am your stay here expires in twenty-four hours and the cards you left at the desk this morning have been declining”

The receptionist behind the counter greeted me as soon as I walked into the hotel lobby.

“I’ll check out before then” I didn't spare her a glance, I just walked past.

Each step I took forward had my muddy shoe trails leaving an imprint on the pristine floor as a reminder of the dirt that would never leave me.

Once at my room’s door, my key card clicked against the lock panel and I stumbled into the dark room, kicking off my heels to God knows where. Turning on the bulbs, I moved into the bathroom and splashed cold water from the faucet onto my face, the chill liquid biting my skin.

Then a low static crack bounced off in the bedroom, the lights flickering on and off exactly the way my sanity was blinking in and out of existence.

Even the fucking lights couldn't decide if they wanted to keep on living or maybe this was their own way of taunting me.

Once I stepped back into the bedroom, the flat screen TV hanging on the wall turned on and I jumped in fright.

It was the same reporter from earlier at the cafe, same location, same news.

“It’s 6pm in Los Angeles and there have been reported cases of bodies found in dark alleys across several parts of the city…”

I scrambled for the remote as the woman’s voice droned out behind me.

I couldn't stand horror stories and especially not when it's close to nightfall and I was all alone in a dark bedroom in an unfamiliar town.

But the woman’s crisp voice kept going. “There’s an ongoing medical trial tagged as ‘Resurrection therapy’. It’s said to use advanced medical methods to bring people back from irreversible conditions. It’s run by an anonymous program claiming to have legal backing and lots of people have been reported missing or found unconscious in strange places after applying”

The remote slipped through my fingers to the floor and I screamed as chills ran through me.

Resurrection therapy? That was a first. If it were real it should be causing a public uproar at the moment except it was fake news from a scamming news station.

But why was no one calling them out yet?

Just then the bedroom’s patio glass slid open and a man’s shadow fell in.

Brandon, my fiancé. Dark suits, handsome and tall on the patio.

“Brandon?” I called, my legs already moving closer on instinct as surprise and relief clashed in my chest.

What was this? How did he get in?

“Hey,” he voiced low and shuffled close to me with practiced calm.

“Babe!” I cried out yet again. It was really him, he was here, he really came for me— so I wasn't alone anymore?

My eyes flashed with excitement.

I dashed into his chest with the speed of light, already sobbing as my shoulders wracked profusely.

God, I missed this man so much! We hadn't even seen each other in months since his business trip to Malibu and being busy people it was hard to communicate with each other but we tried to make it work.

I tried to make it work actually, while he made everything feel forced.

But he was here now and everything was going to be alright…

“We need to talk, Ophelia” his hands wrapped around my arms and he pulled me off him with a blank stare.

Ophelia? Not babe?

My heart dipped as I tightly clutched my fisted hand against my chest to keep me from combusting on the spot.

“Just like that?” I frowned. “We haven't seen each other in months, you stopped taking my calls, then you show up suddenly and can't even hug me properly?”

The air stiffened around us. Even our dark reflection lingered for far too long on the patio glass.

“I’ve come to call off the engagement.” He replied.

“What?” I paled.

“You heard me, Ophelia.”