Chapter 2
The studio was chilled by the AC, but I could still feel the lingering burn on my face from that day.
With a blank expression, I long-pressed and deleted that nauseating text.
Then I switched my phone to silent and set it face down on the desk.
It was as if everything that just happened was nothing but an insignificant illusion.
I picked up my pen and dove back into work. The lines and numbers on the blueprint were the only world I could truly control.
The next day, as soon as I walked into the office, the receptionist looked at me with a troubled expression.
She said, "Ms. Allen, there's a woman downstairs who claims to be your sister. She's been waiting for almost an hour."
I didn't even slow down, heading straight for the elevator. "I don't know any so-called sister. Tell security to deal with her."
Once I got to my office, I pulled up the security footage from the front entrance.
On the screen, Ella was wearing a faded cotton dress, her hair just thrown into a loose ponytail, her face pale and haggard.
She'd lost a lot of weight, looking so pitiful, like a delicate white flower left beaten down by the storm.
I watched her with a cold, detached gaze.
Twelve years had gone by, and she was still a master at putting on a show. Too bad for her, the audience isn't the same anymore.
I called up security, keeping it brief and straightforward.
"There's someone making a scene at the front entrance. Please ask her to leave."
It didn't take long before the security feed turned into a full-blown drama.
Ella got politely escorted out by two tall guards. At first, she looked shocked, then she went into a full meltdown.
She plopped herself right down on the steps outside, wailing loudly and drawing a crowd of curious onlookers. "My sister's inside. She won't even see our mom one last time...
"We know she's some hotshot designer now, probably thinks she's too good for us. But family ties don't just disappear.
"I'm just begging her to go see Mom. Mom's really not going to make it..."
Her sobs came in waves, tears streaming down her face, and pretty soon she had a bunch of strangers feeling sorry for her.
Some clueless folks started gossiping and pointing at the company building.
My partner, Sofia Perez, walked in with a cup of coffee, glanced at the screen, and raised an eyebrow.
"So that's the famous 'good sister' everyone keeps talking about? Honestly, not quite what I expected," Sofia said.
I just grunted, keeping quiet.
Sofia was my lifesaver, the one who rescued me after I ran away from home.
She owned the flower shop where I worked, was in her forties, divorced with no children.
She took me in when I was at rock bottom, paid for my schooling, and taught me how to navigate life.
To me, she was both a mentor and a friend, the only person I could truly call family in this cold city. She was the mother I never had.
Sofia set her coffee down and stormed out in her high heels, full of attitude.
"Leave it to me. I'll handle this," she said.
A few minutes later, on the security feed, Sofia confronted Ella right at the entrance.
I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Sofia's aura was on full display. She spoke so fast that it was almost a blur.
Ella's sorrowful expression turned to sheer panic.
The crowd started whispering, now watching Ella with curious, almost mocking looks.
In the end, Ella nearly fled in disgrace, running off in front of everyone.
When Sofia came back, she had this look of total contempt on her face. "I just asked her a couple of questions. I told her, 'Alright, you say your mom's in critical condition, so which hospital, which department, which room?
"'Our company works with lawyers who are experts in family drama and inheritance. We could send someone to the hospital to verify everything and make sure your sister gets her fair share.'
"The second she heard that, her face turned green, she started stammering, and then she just bolted."
I couldn't help but laugh, a warm feeling spreading through my chest.
"Thanks, Sofia," I said.
Sofia gave my shoulder a reassuring pat.
"No need to thank me. With people like her, you gotta hit 'em where it hurts," she said.
Ella's little stunt at the office might have flopped, but this whole family guilt trip? Yeah, it was just getting warmed up.
That night, my uncle and aunt, folks I hadn't heard from in forever, started blowing up my phone, one after another.
Pretty sure Ella handed out my number like candy.
And every single one of them was reading from the same tired script.
"Luna, your mom worked so hard to raise you. Don't forget your roots, okay?
"She's about to die, Luna. Why keep holding onto old grudges? Even the biggest beef should be buried by now.
"Her blood runs in your veins. Nothing can change that."
I gripped my phone, listening to these so-called "relatives" trying to guilt-trip me with their moral high ground. Honestly, it was ridiculous.
I remembered that freezing winter night twelve years ago, when I was thrown out into the cold with nothing but a few dollars to my name.
It was so cold. I was shivering in a public phone booth, desperately dialing their numbers with my last few coins, hoping someone would care enough to pick up.