Chapter 14
After the plane landed, Arlette Myers was rushed to London’s top hospital for urgent medical care.
“What were you thinking? Waiting any longer, and you’d be knocking on death’s door!”
Dr. Warren Kennedy chastised Arlette sternly.
“Your health metrics are all over the place. I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to hold out this long without seeing a doctor.”
His face grew increasingly grave, his eyes filled with compassion.
“It must be torturous, isn’t it?”
Tears shimmered at the corners of Arlette’s eyes, but she managed a serene and determined smile.
“It’s behind me now. No matter how tough it gets, I’ll follow the treatment plan.”
“I need to survive.”
“I’m going to live for my parents and my child.”
The treatment was predictably agonizing, far worse than anything she had endured before, and the road to recovery was long and seemingly endless.
By the second month in the hospital, she struggled to get out of bed for physiotherapy. Her right leg had been brutally broken during her time in prison and had never received the proper care, leaving the bones misaligned and deformed. Dr. Kennedy had to re-break and reset it.
Learning that she was once the lead dancer of a troupe, the doctor looked at her sympathetically.
“It’s too late. Walking normally in the future would be a gift from above.”
“You may never dance again.”
Though Arlette had accepted she might never dance again, Dr. Kennedy’s words still stung.
She had been dancing since she was three, more than twenty years filled with tears and sweat, all destroyed by Maximo Myers.
“It’s okay.”
“My leg might be ruined, but I still have my hands. If I can’t dance, I’ll paint.”
“As long as I’m alive, there’s hope.”
Tears still glistened in Arlette’s eyes as she fought to turn the corners of her lips upward with all her strength.
Her eyes shone with an astonishing light, as determined as a sword cutting through despair.
“The pain of rehabilitation and medication side effects could make anyone wish for death as an escape. Even if not suicidal, it could lead to emotional ruin.”
“But Miss Myers has weathered it all.”
“Her vibrant spirit and unwavering will are truly inspiring.”
Dr. Kennedy’s words caught Timothy Clark by surprise. He had worked tirelessly to uncover the truth of those years, sending evidence to Maximo Myers, and finally found time to board a flight to visit her.
He had expected it would take considerable time and effort to heal her physical injuries and emotional scars.
Timothy arrived at the rehabilitation center just in time to see her collapse onto the floor.
He gestured for the doctor to hold off from intervening, watching her intently.
Her face was pale from the pain, beads of sweat mingled with her loose hair and slid down her jawline. Still, she didn’t cry or hesitate. Biting her lower lip, she rose again.
She met his gaze.
He saw in her eyes a light bright as a star forged in fire.
“You’re stronger than I imagined.”
Arlette assessed the man before her. He had an imposing presence, a natural aura of authority and dignity from years of holding power.
She recognized his voice.
He was the powerful figure from London.
“It’s you.”
“Arlette Myers, your life is under my protection.”
Timothy stepped into the room.
“Remember, you can only harbor hatred for Maximo Myers, not love.”
“You must never forget who hurt you.”
Arlette’s trembling fingers tightened around the walker, her knuckles turning white.
This was her only chance, one she was determined to seize.
In the past, she had only thought of escape, never daring to hope for vengeance for her parents and child. Now, with this ally’s help, how could she possibly refuse?
Her eyes flamed with fierce determination.
“What do you need me to do?”
Timothy seemed pleased with her response, his eyes revealing an inscrutable smile and a hint of sorrow.
Slowly, he said, “I heard you want to paint? I remember your mother was skilled in oil painting, and you double-majored in it at university. I’ll get the best teachers for you.”
“I want you to perfect your painting skills during your recovery.”
“When you’ve completed fifty paintings, I’ll organize a solo exhibition for you and make you a rising star in the art world.”
Timothy lifted his chin slightly.
“If your skills aren’t up to par, I won’t waste resources and make a fool of myself.”
Arlette straightened her frail back, “I promise I won’t disappoint you.”
Timothy nodded and was about to leave, but a thought struck him, and he glanced back at her.
“Oh, and your new identity will be—”
He paused, his voice slightly rough.
“Viviana Owens, the eldest daughter of the Owens family.”