All Chapters of Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, forcing the stubborn lump in my throat down. When I finally speak, my voice is hoarse. “H–How did you find me?”Althea perks up, scooting closer to me on the bed, and I realize I don't mind the proximity, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with longing. Her lips part, and for the first time, her composure cracks. Tears pool in her eyes, and she clasps her hands together as if steadying herself.“We never stopped looking for you.”I lift my head to watch her. “You were abducted when you were only three, Aretha. That's why we have just these few pictures from your childhood.” Her voice breaks and I can see the years of pain behind her eyes. “We searched everywhere. We followed every lead we got, but they always led to dead ends. And then…” She lets out a trembling breath. “Then after twenty-three agonizingly long years, we finally saw you.”I frown. “What do you mean?”Althea hesitates, as though she’s trying to gather the strength to say it.

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚Later that night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the events of the day in an endless loop. My fingers absentmindedly trace over the birthmark I know is on my left breast, the very thing that confirmed what should have been impossible. I found my real parents today.The thought is still surreal, still overwhelming— too massive to fully wrap my head around, but one thing keeps surfacing amid the chaos: My best friend is right.I won’t let my past dictate my present and future. I won't let what the Winthrops and Berfields put me through prevent me from embracing this and giving my biological family a chance. I was never unwanted by my birth parents, and they hadn’t abandoned me. They never stopped looking for me. And if I push them away now out of fear, I’ll never forgive myself.So I decide to make my choice.I’m going to give them a chance. And if things don’t work out in the end, at least I’ll know that I tried. At least, I could still choose to k

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐬There's a woman standing in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by almost all the guests. She looks like a lost prey being circled by vultures and I begin to wonder why we were sent this video when the lass suddenly turns, bringing her face into view. My breath catches when I recognize her.It's Elena.However, she’s not sitting behind a piano like we would expect, considering her previous job at the restaurant. Neither is she wearing her typical look of cold indifference nor is she veiled in the mystery that’d first drawn us to her. No. Elena is standing in the middle of the ballroom, her expression one of shock and devastation, with her dark eyes wide as she pleads with someone just out of frame.I blink, my mind scrambling to connect the dots, to process the image of Elena in this new light.She's dressed in a colorful, revealing gown that's a far cry from the usually modest and monotonous outfits we've seen her wear ever since meeting her. I'd even noticed how she

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚When Althea had said that she knew exactly what I needed to get started on my revenge plan against those backstabbers, the last place I'd expected her to bring me to is this place—a large shopping mall right in the heart of Knightsbridge. My gaze flits from side to side, taking in the shops as we pass them until we finally stop before one of them. The boutique before me is the embodiment of extravagance and practically dripping in wealth as we walk inside through the automatic doors. Its marble-tiled floors gleam underneath the glow of massive orb-like crystal chandeliers, their intricate gold-inlaid designs paving a path toward a space so opulent, it feels more like a room in a palace than a mere boutique. Ornate columns stretch towards the visible ceiling, their gilded carvings whispering of aristocracy, while a golden carousel right in the center of the room, adorned with accessories and delicate perfume bottles, flaunts its luxury.I exhale, turning to Althea with wh

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚On the third day of our transformatory spree, I wake up with a singular goal in mind and that's to erase every trace of my past still left. The weight of old names and old identities presses down on me like chains I’ve long outgrown. Today, I’m cutting them loose.Althea is already at the breakfast table when I step into the sunlit kitchen. She’s sipping on what I'm sure is her routine morning pick-me-up—chai tea, not coffee as the faint aromas of cinnamon, ginger and other spice blends curl into the air. Seated completely untouched on the dining table before her is a large platter that holds a classic, full English breakfast, consisting of some crispy bacon strips, blood sausages, baked beans, hash browns, a couple of fresh cherry tomatoes gotten from the greenhouse at the backyard of the mansion, black pudding, fried eggs with runny yolks, and sauteed mushrooms. A separate set of plates surround the platter, containing few slices of toasted sourdough bread, some porrid