Fated To Three, Betrayed By All… Until She Rose novel Chapter 4

**Healing Slowly But Surely**
By R. Joseph

—

**Chapter 4: All the Love and Attention**

Leilani.

A cacophony of beeping monitors and hurried footsteps jolted me awake, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils.

As I slowly peeled my eyelids apart, the stark reality of my surroundings settled in. I was in a hospital room, confined to a bed that felt foreign and uncomfortable. My gaze fell upon a middle-aged doctor, his brow deeply furrowed with concern as he leaned over me, checking my pulse with a practiced urgency.

“Her breathing is erratic, and her pulse isn’t stable either. I don’t think we should draw more blood; she’s already so pale… if we continue this, she might not survive,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of professionalism and worry.

But before he could finish, a thunderous voice cut through the air like a knife. “My other daughter, the one who’s more important, needs the blood! I don’t care if we drain Leilani dry, as long as Chalice is saved!” My father’s words echoed in the room, slicing through my heart. I fought against the instinct to react, to scream out in anguish.

Instead, I focused on maintaining the illusion of unconsciousness, even as every fiber of my being screamed for me to curl up and weep. I felt as though I was being backed into an emotional corner, desperate to let the tears flow, but I held them back with all my might.

“But…” the doctor hesitated, clearly torn, when Gavin, my brother, suddenly intervened. His eyes flashed with anger as he directed a contemptuous glare at the doctor. “Do as my father says. No one cares about this wench in the first place!” His words were like daggers, and they stabbed deeper than I could have anticipated.

The remnants of my heart shattered, scattering into a million pieces. The fragile hope I had clung to dissipated as the grim realization washed over me: these people, my family, didn’t care about me at all.

They never loved me.

They would never love me.

Tears slipped silently from the corners of my tightly shut eyes as I listened to them berate the doctor further. I lay still, feeling the weight of their indifference as he complied with their demands, draining more of my blood until I felt lightheaded and nauseous. A nurse burst into the room, her eyes widening in horror. “She’s so pale! She’s almost blue!”

Yet, my family remained unperturbed, their focus solely on Chalice, their precious golden child, as if I were nothing more than an afterthought.

What stung the most was the presence of my mates, standing by with hollow expressions. Their only concern? Whether the amount of blood taken was sufficient for Chalice. If they could be tested too, to see if they could donate as well.

My body trembled, not from the cold, but from the crushing weight of heartache, betrayal, and despair.

Time lost all meaning as I lay there, my body being ravaged by those who should have been my protectors. The world began to spin around me, the only sound I could hear was the rush of my blood pounding in my ears. The metallic taste of it filled my mouth, a grim reminder of my reality.

Suddenly, the heart monitor blared, its shrill sound piercing the air as doctors rushed to stabilize me. But I felt myself slipping away, too far gone to grasp onto life.

Darkness enveloped me, and I surrendered to unconsciousness.

—

I found myself standing on the periphery of a cemetery, my eyes shielded behind dark sunglasses, observing the somber ceremony unfolding before me. My family, so perfectly united, embraced one another at the front, their grief palpable.

Once again, I was the outsider, but this time, an unfamiliar indifference washed over me. My grandmother’s death had forged a hardness within me, eroding the desperate need for acceptance and love that had long plagued me.

My heart felt heavy, but it wasn’t merely the weight of grief that bore down on me; it was the realization that I was being punished for a crime I had not committed.

I wasn’t the one who had taken Grandma’s life.

In fact, her murderer stood among the mourners, nestled between my so-called mates, weeping softly into a handkerchief. She appeared the very picture of innocent elegance, and for the first time, I understood why others admired her so.

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