Chapter 22 The Call
*Mia’s POV**
The first thing I noticed was the soft cotton against my cheek, still damp with tears. For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, feeling the warmth of morning sunlight on my face. My body ached, heavy with exhaustion, but my mind felt strangely clear – clearer than yesterday.
Mom needed me. She was fighting for her life in that hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and sterile walls. I couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not when she needed me to be strong.
I pushed myself up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. The en–suite bathroom mirror revealed what I’d expected pale skin, dark circles under puffy eyes, hair tangled from restless sleep. I looked like grief personified. But I couldn’t be that person anymore. Not if I wanted to help Mom…
The hot shower helped, washing away the salt of dried tears. I let the water pound against my shoulders, trying to release some
of the tension. Each breath came a little easier than the last.
A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts. “Mrs. Branson?” Mrs. Chen’s voice was warm with concern. “May I bring in your breakfast?”
“Please come in.” My voice sounded rough, unused.
Mrs. Chen entered carrying a silver tray, “You should eat something,” she said, setting the tray on the small table by the window. The morning light caught the steam rising from a bowl of congee – her specialty, made with ginger and century egg Comfort food. “Keep up your strength.”
She was right. “Thank you, Mrs. Chen.”
She hesitated, then added softly, “Mr. Branson left specific instructions. Anything you need, just ask.” Her eyes held something I couldn’t quite read. “He seemed… different this morning. Worried.”
The memory of last night flickered. His voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. But I pushed the thought away. I couldn’t afford to think about Kyle right now. Couldn’t let myself hope again.
“The job details from Mr. Parker arrived,” Mrs. Chen continued, placing a thick manila envelope beside my breakfast. “And I’ve charged your tablet.”
I nodded, grateful for her efficiency. The Havers project could be exactly what I needed. I need more money, also pov needed it too. Every possibility mattered now.
[om
The congee was perfect, as always. I forced myself to eat small spoonfuls while reviewing Jeo’s materials. The project was ambitious – a luxury boutique hotel that needed to blend modern aesthetics with historical architecture. Hours melted away as I lost myself in the work. Sketches filled page after page. Research about sustainable materials and local architectural history piled up on my tablet. The familiar flow of creativity felt like coming home to a part of myself I’d almost forgotten.
The sun was setting, painting the room in shades of orange and gold, when my phone rang. The number made my blood freeze.
Rachard. The man I should call father.
I stared at the screen, memories flooding back unbidden. Dad walking out. Mom crying into her pillow at night. Taylor and her mother moving in like they’d always belonged there.
My finger hovered over ‘decline.‘ But something stopped me. Maybe… maybe he’d heard about Mom. Maybe after all these years, he finally…
“Hello?” My voice came out steadier than I felt.
“Come home.” His voice hadn’t changed – still commanding, still expecting immediate obedience. “We need to talk.”
Home. As if that house had ever been home after he brought them in.
Chapter 22 The Call
“Why?” I managed to ask.
“COME. It’s important.” The line went dead before I could respond
+25 BONUS
I sat there for a long moment, phone still pressed to my ear. The last rays of sunlight stretched across the floor, reaching for shadows that grew longer by the minute.
Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway. “Shall I call the driver?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. As she turned to leave, I called after her. “Mrs. Chen?”
She paused.
“Thank you. For everything today.”
Her smile was gentle. Understanding. “Take care, Mrs. Branson.”
The drive seemed both too long and too short. Each familiar street brought back memories I’d rather forget. The park where Taylor had first told me I didn’t belong in her family. The ice cream shop where Dad used to take me, before everything changed. The corner where I’d found Mom crying one day, just walking aimlessly, lost in her grief.
The house looked exactly as I remembered – perfectly maintained lawn, carefully tended flowers, elegant facade hiding all the ugly truths beneath. Even the curtains were the same ones Taylor’s mother had picked out, replacing Mom’s handmade ones all those years ago.
I wasn’t surprised when Dad opened the door before I could knock He’d aged, grey threading through his dark hair, lines deeper around his mouth. But his eyes were the same – cold, judging, already disappointed.
“Finally decided to show up?” He barely stepped aside to let me pass. “After what you’ve done?”
The familiar scent of his cologne hit me expensive, overwhelming. Mom used to love that smell. Used to say it made her feel safe. Until it became the scent of betrayal.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, stepping into the foyer. The marble floor gleamed, reflecting the crystal chandelier Taylor’s mother had insisted on installing. Everything perfect. Everything fake.
“Don’t play innocent.” His voice rose as he followed me into the living room. “How dare you steal opportunities from your sister?”
Sister. Of course. Taylor. It always came back to Taylor.
I turned slowly, feeling the weight of years of unsaid words between us. “What opportunities?” My voice came out quiet. Controlled. “What has she told you now?”
“Watch your tone, young lady.” He drew himself up, using his height to intimidate, just like he used to when I was fifteen and questioning why Mom’s things were being packed away. “Taylor told us everything. How you manipulated your way into her position. How you-”
“What position?” The laugh that escaped me sounded hollow even to my own ears. “I haven’t even-
A door opened somewhere upstairs. Heels clicked on hardwood. The sound as familiar as a nightmare.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Taylor’s presence had always filled rooms, demanded attention, crushed everything else into shadows.
Dad’s face brightened. Just like it always did when she entered a room. “Tell her,” he commanded. “Tell your sister what you’ve
done.”
I turned slowly, already knowing what I’d see. Taylor stood in the doorway, perfect as always. Designer dress, flawless makeup, that look of calculated innocence she’d perfected years ago.
I squared my shoulders, ready for whatever came next.
