The next morning, Ana woke up wrapped in warmth. The scent of expensive linen and lavender greeted her senses. For a brief second, she had forgotten about her troubles, lost in the serenity of the luxurious suite. But reality struck fast and hard.
Her eyes darted to the alarm clock. It was already 9 a.m. She shot out of bed, heart pounding. Annie. Adonis. The hospital. The police station. Everything came rushing back like a tidal wave.
She grabbed the fresh dress laid out for her by Harry's assistant, a soft blue designer gown that felt like silk against her skin. As she changed, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her pale, tear-stained face was now clean, her hair neatly brushed. But her eyes… they still held the storm.
Before she left the suite, she picked up the elegant white envelope left on the coffee table. Inside was a neatly written note:
"If you need help, don't hesitate to call. — H.F."
Beneath the note was a black card with golden lettering—his private contact information.
Ana clutched the card tightly, her heart caught in a tangle of emotions. He had already done so much for her. How could she possibly ask for more?
She grabbed her bag, and rushed out of the suite. Minutes later, she flagged down a cab and gave the driver her home address with urgency bleeding from her voice.
Across the city, Harry sat in his office, flipping through reports. His thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the girl with tired eyes and a kind smile.
"Ana Lyle," he whispered to himself, almost as if tasting her name.
His phone buzzed. It was a message from his assistant.
"Sir, the girl left the hotel safely. I offered further help, but she declined. However, I've attached her full background check as you requested."
Harry opened the file, eyes scanning over her story. Every line made his chest tighten.
"She's been through too much," he muttered, setting the tablet down.
He turned his chair to face the glass window, overlooking the skyline, lost in thought.
He didn't know why he felt so protective of her—but he did. And he knew one thing for sure.
He wasn't going to let her suffer alone anymore.
When the taxi pulled up to their modest house, her heart clenched at the sight of two bulky men standing sentinel by the door. She recognized them instantly—Mr. Smith's bodyguards.
Suppressing her alarm, Reina pushed past them and stormed into the house.
Inside, Mr. Smith lounged comfortably on their worn-out couch, while her mother, looking pale and tired, hurriedly packed breakfast boxes in the kitchen. The air was heavy with discomfort. Her mother had deep circles under her eyes, her movements sluggish from stress and exhaustion. The sight nearly broke Reina.
Still, she clenched her fists and stayed composed.
Ana, her mother, finally noticed Reina and Mr. Smith in the same space. Her protective instincts surged.
"What are you doing here?" Ana snapped, her voice laced with disdain.
Mr. Smith smirked, a sly curve playing at his lips. "My little kitty, no need to be so alarmed. I'm only here to offer my services. I heard about your family's troubles, and I've come to give you my... unconditional support."
"Well, I don't need your help," Ana retorted coldly. "If you've got nothing else to say, get out of my house."
But he leaned forward, his voice oily and persuasive. "Think about it, my dear Ana. Marry me and become my sweet wife. All my millions will be yours to use however you please. Your brother walks free, and your precious little sister gets the best medical care money can buy. I'll give you two days to consider."
Ana's voice was calm but firm. "Leave. Now."
With an exaggerated sigh, Mr. Smith stood, blew her a kiss, and strolled out leisurely. Reina shut the door behind him and quickly turned to her mother.
"Mother, are you okay?" she asked gently. "You need to rest. Please, let me handle this."
Ana shook her head weakly. "No, I can't rest. Adonis and Julia... they need me."
Ana led her gently away from the kitchen. "I'll take care of everything, okay? Just sit. Let me find you some medicine."
She rummaged through her bag. As she searched, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. She bent to pick it up—it was the business card Sandra gave her.
Her gaze shifted to her exhausted mother slumped on the couch. A storm of emotion passed through her eyes, but it all resolved into a single, solid expression: determination.
She slipped the card into her dress pocket, found the pills, and handed one to her mother. After helping her to bed, Reina packed the breakfast boxes and left the house.
At the hospital, the sound of laughter welcomed her. Inside Julia's ward, a clown was performing magic tricks while Sandra stood nearby, smiling warmly.
"Sister! You're here!" Julia beamed. "Come, watch with us. He's really funny!"
Reina smiled and nodded, sitting beside her. After the show, she lovingly fed Julia and tended to her needs.
Later, as she red stories to Julia , the little girl looked up at her with sleepy eyes.
"Sister…" she mumbled. "If I die, will you still remember me?"
Ana froze.
"Don't say things like that, Julia," she said with forced calm. "You're not going to die."
"But the teacher cried the other time because of me," Julia said softly. "She thinks I didn't see her, but I did. I don't want you to cry too, sister."
Ana pressed her lips together, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.
"I'll never cry, Julia," she whispered. "Because I'll do everything it takes to make you better."
Julia smiled weakly. "Promise?"
"I promise."
When the little girl drifted off to sleep, Reina and Sandra quietly stepped out into the lobby.
The air was heavy with worry. Julia was stable, but the doctors were adamant, the surgery had to happen within the next few days or she might not make it.
Ana stood outside the hospital room, staring blankly at the medical bills in her hand. Each figure felt like a stab to her chest. She had already begged every neighbor, every friend, every relative. No one had enough. Her phone buzzed—another rejection message from someone she had asked for help.
In the police station, things were worse. Adonis had refused to eat. His eyes were sunken, his face bruised from a fight with another inmate. The charges were serious, and without a strong lawyer, he didn't stand a chance.
Ana sat on the cold metal bench in the waiting room, her hands trembling. She was on the verge of breaking.
That evening, as she walked home past shuttered stores and street vendors packing up, she made a decision. She pulled out the business card Julia had given her—the one she swore she would never use.
It was slightly crumpled from being stuffed at the bottom of her bag, but the bold name still stood out: "Mrs Rosalind Ross— Executive Recruiter."
Ana hesitated for a long moment.
Then she dialed the number.