The Rescue That Was Never A Rescue Chapter 04

The Rescue That Was Never A Rescue Chapter 04

“The doctor said you pulled your stitches and fainted from low blood sugar. How could you be so reckless?”

My father stood nearby, a rare look of worry etched across his face.

For a moment I wondered if I was dreaming, if they truly cared for me.

“Laurel, your father and I have failed you.” My mother took my hand, her tone heavy with remorse.

“We were so wrapped up in Waverly’s troubles that we forgot you were the one who needed us most. We were wrong to let you suffer like that.”

My father spoke in a deep, solemn voice. “At the family homecoming banquet, we will make every guest recognize you as a true Reed heiress.”

My mother nodded and pulled an antique bracelet out of her purse.

“This has been in the Reed family for three generations, meant only for Reed daughters. I should have given it to you long ago.”

She lifted my wrist and fastened the bracelet gently around it.

“Wear it this afternoon. It is proof of your status as a Reed, and no one can take that from you.”

I stared down at the bracelet, my throat burning.

Even with the slimmest chance, I wanted to believe their regret was genuine.

Perhaps they were merely overly partial toward Waverly, not completely heartless.

After all, I shared their blood. I was their biological daughter.

So I left the hospital with them and climbed into the car bound for the dress boutique.

I was a few steps away from the private fitting room when muffled sounds drifted through the closed door.

Fabric rustling mixed with wet, soft kissing noises. Landon’s low voice carried over, thick with coaxing warmth.

“Waverly, stop. Someone might walk in.”

The slow scrape of a zipper sliding down echoed clearly.

My feet froze to the floor. Every drop of blood in my veins turned icy cold.

My mother seized my arm hard, panic flickering across her features as she tried to steer me away.

“Laurel, let’s wait in the lounge over there. Don’t disturb your sister while she tries on gowns…”

I stood rigid and refused to move.

My father scowled. “I told you to wait in the lounge. Why must you persist?”

“Persist?” A bitter laugh escaped me, a gut-wrenching pain tearing through my chest. “Am I supposed to pretend I see nothing while my fiancé kisses my own sister inside that room?”

“That’s outrageous!” my father snapped, his brow furrowed. “Your sister couldn’t reach her zipper, and Landon merely helped her. Such filthy thoughts for a young lady to have!”

Just then, the fitting room door swung open.

Landon stepped out first. A faint pink lipstick mark stained his throat.

He slowly buttoned his shirt collar to hide the smudge. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in his eyes, only weary irritation.

“Are you finished with this scene? Waverly is sensitive. Don’t frighten her.”

Waverly peeked out from behind him, eyes glistening red, sniffling quietly. “Mom, Dad, please don’t blame Laurel. It is my fault for asking Landon to help me…”

“This isn’t your fault.” My mother abandoned me at once and hurried over to slip an arm around Waverly. “We arrived at a bad time and startled you.”

Every word was designed to pin the blame squarely on me.

She turned back to me. “Don’t just stand there. Go try on your dress.”

She waved a hand, and an assistant shoved a gown into my arms.

It was a garish fuchsia tulle dress covered in lopsided, cheap sequins.

“This is the custom-made luxury gown you promised me?”

My fingers trembled as I gripped the fabric.

“It’s your first formal event. Bright colors will make you stand out.” My mother’s tone was flat, as if the explanation needed no further thought.

“Waverly is accustomed to designer couture. You would only ruin an expensive dress you don’t know how to wear. This one is perfectly fine. Just get through the banquet.”

I clutched the tacky dress and finally understood. All that talk of remorse, of restoring my dignity at the banquet, every empty promise—it had all been a lie.

They had only tricked me into leaving the hospital. Their plan was to parade me in front of everyone, to turn me into the evening’s laughingstock.

The dress was far too small, squeezing my ribs until they ached.

The second I stepped into the ballroom, dozens of camera flashes blinded me.

I soon realized most guests were not old family acquaintances at all. They were internet users Waverly had invited.

“Look, there’s that tacky long-lost heiress! Dressed like she just walked out of some tacky nightclub!”

“Heard she tended bar in nightclubs. Who knows what messes she got into!”

“Get out of here! Stop disgracing the Reeds!”

They thrust their phones inches from my face, cameras flashing relentlessly as they hurled insult after insult.

My hand closed tight around my phone, my finger hovering over the play button for the recording.

I was about to hit it when my gaze drifted toward the shadows at the honor table.

A man in a black hoodie sat at the head table. He raised his wine glass, tipping it slightly in my direction.

His lips moved silently, forming words only I could read.

“Trust me. The real show is about to begin.”