Once Rejected, Now Rising Chapter 09

Once Rejected, Now Rising Chapter 09

Amid the chaos, someone hurled a pen holder. 

The room erupted. 

Through the police and lawyers, they clawed at each other. 

Rinaldo was scratched across the face by Azura’s nails. 

Azura’s forehead was struck by a file Rinaldo threw, swelling and bleeding profusely. 

Officers struggled to pull them apart, dragging them back into their chairs. Both gasping and bruised, like animals at each other’s throats, glaring with pure hatred. 

Every trace of affection between them had vanished. 

“Rinaldo! I won’t let you get away with this! I’ll report you! I know everything you’ve done!” 

“Go ahead! Let’s see who’s going to believe you! You’re the 

mastermind!” 

Eventually, Rinaldo was formally charged with multiple 

crimes, including intentional homicide, medical malpractice, 

bribery, obstruction of justice. 

With the severity and public impact, he faced a long prison 

term, possibly worse. 

Azura faced charges as his accomplice, plus fraud, illegal fundraising, and perjury. The amounts involved were massive, 

and the circumstances severe. 

During the trial period, her emotions were so unstable she 

repeatedly attempted self–harm, under strict supervision. 

One midnight, she used hidden shards of plastic to cut her wrists. By the time she was found, she was dead. 

I was in a sunlit courtyard, drinking tea, when the news came. 

Niccolo handed me a peeled orange. 

“Dead?” I took a slice, it was sweet. 

“Yes. Lost too much blood, couldn’t be saved.” 

I nodded silently. 

The courtyard flowers bloomed, the wind gentle. 

Little Nola’s photo was in the most prominent spot in my 

living room. 

Beside it, my mother’s photo. 

I moved to a new city, assumed a new identity, and opened a 

small flower shop. 

Not booming business, but a peaceful life. 

Niccolo sometimes visited, bringing food or just sitting 

quietly. 

He rarely spoke, but he was always there. 

Occasionally, waking from nightmares in a cold sweat, I would open my eyes to the serene room I arranged, not a cold prison basement, not that suffocating “home.” 

I would sit up, sip water, look out at the sleeping city and 

scattered lights. 

Then, return to bed, and sleep. 

The pain, hatred, and humiliation that once seemed insurmountable had become part of me, buried deep. 

But now, they could never truly hurt me again. 

When sunlight touched my skin, I would think of Nola’s soft hair, my mother’s off–key hums.