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Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress Novel Cover

Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my body feeling like a hollowed-out shell. For fifteen years, I had been the "spare part" of the wealthy Kensington family, a foster child kept only as a biological resource for their golden daughter, Jenna. My adoptive mother, Kathryn, walked in with a cold-eyed doctor, discussing me like an old car needing parts. They were planning another bone marrow "harvest" for the next morning, even though the doctor admitted the procedure was risky because my body hadn't recovered from the last extraction. "Passable is fine," Kathryn said, waving away the danger to my life like she was swatting a fly. "Just get it done. It's her only value." Jenna arrived in a wheelchair, putting on a performance of fragile sisterly love while actually glowing with health from the blood I had given her months ago. I watched as the doctor callously jabbed a needle into my arm, missing the vein on purpose, before turning off my pain medication pump as a final act of petty cruelty. They left me there to rot, convinced I was just a dull, submissive girl with nowhere to go. I lay in the silence, feeling the weight of every scrap they’d fed me and every hand-me-down I’d worn while Jenna lived in luxury. I realized I was never a daughter to them; I was an organ farm meant to be drained until I was empty. But as the door clicked shut, the fog of sedation in my brain finally lifted, replaced by a cold, predatory stillness. "Oracle," my mind whispered. "Online." I ripped the IV from my arm and escaped into the night, turning a five-dollar piece of junk into a six-million-dollar fortune in the city's darkest underground markets. By the time I returned to the Kensington Manor, I wasn't the useless foster girl they remembered—I was a predator with a massive bank account and a plan to take back everything they stole from me.
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Chapter 9

"We had a deal!" Miles shouted, his face turning red.

The vendor whistled. From the shadows behind the stall, three massive men emerged. They were built like tanks, with scars and tattoos covering their arms.

"This is the Bazaar," the vendor sneered. "There are no laws here. Give me your wallets. Both of you. And the old man's watch."

Sterling clutched his chest, his face paling. "You... you can't..."

The thugs stepped forward. The crowd around them evaporated, forming a wide circle. No one wanted to get hit by stray blood.

Casimir set his drink down on the railing. "Should we?" Nate asked.

"Wait," Casimir said. "Let's see."

Dejah sighed. "This is inefficient."

The vendor lunged for Sterling's lapel.

Dejah moved.

She grabbed a rusted iron pipe from the table. She didn't swing it like a bat-she didn't have the strength for home runs. She used it as an extension of her limb.

She thrust the end of the pipe into the soft spot of the vendor's armpit, hitting the brachial plexus. The vendor screamed, his arm going numb instantly, dropping the coin.

Dejah caught the coin with her left hand before it hit the ground.

The first thug threw a punch. Dejah dropped to her knees, letting his fist sail over her head. She jammed the pipe behind his knee and pulled. Leverage. His own weight brought him down. As he fell, she drove her elbow into his temple. He collapsed, howling.

The second thug tried to kick her. Dejah rolled, coming up behind him. She threw a handful of metallic dust from the table into his eyes. While he was blinded, she kicked the back of his knee, forcing him down.

The third thug hesitated.

Dejah stood up, twirling the pipe. She looked at him. She let the intent flow.

He turned and ran.

It was over in twelve seconds.

Miles was staring at Dejah with his mouth open. Sterling was clutching his cane, trembling.

"Impressive," Casimir murmured from the balcony. "Very impressive."

The vendor was cradling his numb arm, sobbing.

Dejah walked over to Sterling. She held up the coin.

"Six million," she said. "Transfer it to this account." She handed him a slip of paper with a number scrawled on it. "It's an offshore crypto-wallet. Instant clearing. No banks, no waiting."

Sterling looked at the coin, then at Dejah. "Six... yes. Yes! It's worth ten! You saved my life!"

"Just business," Dejah said.

Sterling nodded to Miles. "Do it. Now."

Miles tapped furiously on his phone. A moment later, Dejah's burner phone buzzed. Funds Verified. 6,000,000 USD equivalent.

Dejah turned to leave.

Behind her, there was a gasp. Then a thud.

Dejah turned back. Sterling was on the ground. His hands were clawing at his chest. His face was turning a terrifying shade of purple.

"Grandfather!" Miles screamed. "Help! Someone help!"

Cardiac arrest.

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