BETRAYED LOVE

The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway cast long shadows as Angela strolled aimlessly, her slippers scuffing softly against the linoleum floor. Her steps were unsteady, her body weakened from her ordeal. She wrapped her arms around herself, the thin hospital gown doing little to shield her from the chill that seeped into her bones.

The once radiant glow of her complexion was gone. Angela's face, now pale and drawn, seemed to have aged overnight. Dark circles marred the soft skin beneath her eyes, and her cheeks, once full and lively, had hollowed. If she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she barely recognized the person staring back.

The corridors were quiet, save for the occasional beep of medical monitors and the distant hum of voices from the nurse's station. It felt like the world had shrunk into this small, sterile space. Angela sighed, her breath trembling as she gazed out the tall windows lining the hallway. Snowflakes swirled in the dark outside, their fleeting beauty a painful reminder of how distant joy felt.

She turned a corner, and that's when she saw her.

A girl, perhaps the same age as Angela, sat in a wheelchair near the end of the corridor. She was petite and delicate-looking, with a pale complexion that rivaled Angela's. Her short hair framed her face, soft curls barely brushing her shoulders. She was bent over, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her feet dangling just above the ground.

Angela's gaze flicked to the floor. Something about the wheelchair caught her attention—one of the wheels had been slightly twisted, and the chair rocked slightly with each of the girl's small movements.

Angela approached slowly, unsure if she should say something. The girl must have heard her footsteps because she turned abruptly. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Angela saw a flicker of something—pain, fear, or perhaps a guarded curiosity.

"Hi," Angela said softly, her voice raspy from disuse.

The girl tilted her head, studying her. "You look like a ghost," she said bluntly.

Angela blinked, startled by the unexpected honesty. "Thanks," she replied dryly.

The girl smirked, the faintest curve of her lips breaking through the tension. "You're welcome."

Angela moved closer and gestured to the wheelchair. "Mind if I sit?"

The girl shrugged. "It's not like I can chase you off."

Angela clicked the brakes on the wheelchair and perched herself on the armrest. "What are you doing out here so late?"

The girl glanced down at her hands. "Couldn't sleep."

"Same," Angela admitted. "Hospital beds are torture devices in disguise."

This earned her a soft chuckle from the girl. "You've been here long?"

Angela shrugged. "Long enough. You?"

"Too long." The girl's smile faded, and her voice grew quieter. "They say I might never leave."

Angela froze. She wasn't sure what to say to that. Instead, she asked, "What's your name?"

"Claire," the girl replied. "And you?"

"Angela."

They sat in silence for a moment, the snow outside casting a dim glow into the hallway.

"You were crying earlier," Claire said suddenly, her voice matter-of-fact.

Angela stiffened. "How did you know?"

"Your eyes," Claire said simply. "I'm good at spotting people who've been crying. Comes with the territory."

Angela didn't respond immediately. Her mind wandered back to her encounter with Lillian and Brad. The humiliation, the rage—it all came flooding back, twisting her stomach into knots.

"I had visitors today," Angela said finally.

"Friends?" Claire asked.

Angela let out a bitter laugh. "Far from it. My step-sister and her fiancé. They came to invite me to their engagement party."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Claire said, though her tone was cautious.

"It is when the fiancé used to be mine," Angela replied, her voice dripping with anger.

Claire's eyes widened. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Angela said, her hands balling into fists. "They came here to gloat. To rub their happiness in my face while I'm stuck in this place, looking like a corpse."

Claire was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "So what are you going to do about it?"

Angela looked at her, startled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Claire said, leaning forward slightly, "are you just going to let them walk all over you? Or are you going to fight back?"

Angela's breath hitched. The fire she had felt earlier, the one that Lillian had stoked with her visit, flared to life again.

"I don't know yet," Angela admitted. "But I can't let them win."

"Good," Claire said with a nod. "Because people like that? They only win if you let them."

Angela stared at the girl, surprised by the steel in her voice. Claire might have been small and fragile-looking, but there was a quiet strength in her, a determination that reminded Angela of herself.

"Thanks," Angela said softly.

Claire smiled faintly. "Don't thank me. Just make sure you give them hell. scum bags like them don't deserve your precious tears.

Angela couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising even herself. It wasn't much, but it was the first time she had felt a spark of hope in weeks.

As the girls kept chatting, laughing from time to time, they did not seem to notice the man standing in the shadows.

The hallway remained quiet, the soft hiss of the heating system the only sound that accompanied the gentle rhythm of snow against the windows. But in the deeper shadows, tucked behind the corner just out of sight of the hospital's main corridor, a man stood. His posture was flawless, the kind of stillness only a trained bodyguard could achieve. His black suit was immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted, and his eyes sharp, scanning the surroundings with the precision of someone who'd spent years protecting those who mattered most.

His name was Jonas, a quiet, imposing figure with a reputation that preceded him. He didn't speak much, but when he did, his words carried weight.

Jonas wasn't supposed to be here, not at this hospital, not on this night. But duty called, and so he stood, blending into the darkness like a shadow. His attention, however, wasn't on the girl in the wheelchair—the girl named Claire. It was rather on Angela.

Jonas had been observing her for weeks, but tonight, something had shifted. He had seen Claire from a distance earlier, sitting by herself, her eyes cold and distant, as if she were a person lost in a world of her own. But tonight, something was different. He had seen the exchange between Claire and Angela—the way Claire had approached her with an intensity that Jonas wasn't used to. His sister wasn't the type to display much emotion. She had always been quiet, reserved, even cold at times. But when she spoke to Angela, there was something in her tone—a flicker of concern, maybe even empathy, that Jonas had never seen from her before.

He hadn't thought much of her at first. A patient, like so many others, caught in the crossfire of life's misfortune. But the way she had spoken to Angela, the soft but steady fire in her voice, had piqued his interest on Angela.

His hand went to the earpiece, and he adjusted it slightly, his deep voice barely a whisper as he spoke into it. "Find out more about her."

There was a brief pause before the response came.

"Understood. But sir, she doesn't seem to be of any importance… not to anyone at least. The staff are mostly indifferent to her, and the visitors rarely stay long. She hasn't had any major interactions with people, not in a while. Sir both don't seem to know each other background. Angela doesn't seem to know much about the hospital's high-profile patients or even Claire, the one she was talking to."

Jonas' brow furrowed at the mention of Angela. So she doesn't know who Angela is, he thought, though the implications stirred more curiosity than concern. Angela was someone everyone knew about—the heiress who had everything and lost it all. A woman of fierce reputation, who had been thrown into a hospital bed by betrayal, and now sat in a corner, nursing wounds both physical and emotional.

But this Claire his sister... This girl in the wheelchair who hardly spoke to anyone, who rarely interacted with the world around her, had just engaged with Angela in a way that didn't sit right with Jonas.

"She hardly ever shows emotions," Jonas remarked, his voice low and measured. "I've seen her a few times before. But tonight… it's different. She's too calm for someone who should be suffering."

The voice on the other end was more cautious now. "She doesn't show much emotion, yes. But it's the way she interacted with Angela... She spoke as if she was trying to provoke a reaction. Most people would have avoided Angela, especially after everything she's been through. But Claire didn't."

Jonas stood still, considering the implications. What's her angle? His mind raced through various possibilities. Angela could be just another victim of circumstance, or she could be something more—someone with a secret, someone who held a key to unraveling more than just her reputation.

"I want her background checked," Jonas instructed, his voice hardening with purpose. "No one is an enigma in this world. Get everything. Her past, her family, her connections. If she's as disconnected as she seems, there has to be a reason for it."

There was another long pause before the voice on the other end responded. "I'll get on it right away. But... there's something else, sir. You should know that she doesn't seem to know who Angela is. From what I've gathered, she wasn't aware of Angela's identity when they spoke. Not even a hint of recognition when Angela introduced herself."

Jonas' eyes narrowed. That was interesting. Angela's name carried weight in their circles, even if she was no longer at the top. For someone like Claire to have not recognized her? That wasn't something that happened often.

"Keep me informed," Jonas ordered, his voice like a blade. "I'll be watching."

As the bodyguard withdrew into the shadows, Jonas' gaze lingered for a moment on the hallway where Angela stood, unaware of the invisible eyes that watched her every move. He had seen many people in his life, but there was something about this girl—a kind of quiet force, an undercurrent of strength that pulsed beneath the surface.

Something didn't add up.

The longer the girls talked the more the felt familiar. They quickly exchanged their contacts and bidded each other farewell before returning to their various wards.

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