<h4>Chapter 18: Heartbreaks</h4>


    The evening air nipped at Eliana Bet’s skin as she walked down the cracked sidewalk toward home. Rafael Vexley’s words still twisted in her chest, making every step feel heavy. Her old dress slippers scraped against the pavement, each scuff echoing the anger bubbling inside her. <i>Bear me a child. In exchange, I’ll give you a fortune. </i>His cold voice reyed in her mind like a cruel joke, his steel-grey eyes shing with arrogant certainty. Did he really think she could be bought so easily? That her struggles made her cheap? Her cheeks burned with the memory, and she clenched her fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. "Arrogant jerk," she muttered under her breath.


    Eliana climbed the cracked steps up to the fourth floor of the crumbling apartment building she called home. The streets below buzzed with distant shouting and the whine of motorbikes, but up here, only a single streemp flickered in the dark, its dim light spilling over the stained walkway outside. Paint curled away from the walls of her apartment in brittle curls, revealing the splintered wooden door beneath. She slipped her key into the lock and pushed the door open, wincing at the groan of its hinges. The smell inside wrapped around her like a worn nket—old wood, stale air, and the sharp medicinal smell of her father’s cough syrup.


    "Eliana, sweetheart?" Frank’s voice was soft, raspy, his dark eyes searching her face as she dropped her bag by the door. "You’re back early. What happened at that fancy job Sarai got you?"


    Eliana froze, her throat tightening. She forced a smile, though it felt like a lie. "It... wasn’t for me, Papa," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. She crossed the room, kneeling beside him, her hands gently adjusting the nket. "I’ll find something else. Something better."


    Frank’s brow furrowed, his hand trembling as he reached for hers. "You look upset, sweetheart. What’d they do to you up there in that big house?"


    "Nothing worth talking about," she replied, her tone clipped. She couldn’t bear to tell him about Rafael’s proposition, the way it had stripped her bare, exposing her vulnerability. Nor could she admit how much it hurt to walk away from a job Sarai had worked so hard to secure for her. Sarai, her best friend, who’d always had her back—or so Eliana believed. "I just... I couldn’t do it. That’s all."


    Frank studied her, his gaze heavy with concern, but he nodded. "Alright, sweetheart. You’ll figure it out. You always do." His cough broke the silence, sharp and painful, and Eliana’s heart twisted as she handed him a ss of water from the side table.


    "Rest, Papa," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "I’ve got this."


    The next morning, Eliana slipped into her faded apron at the coffee shop, the familiar hum of the espresso machine grounding her. The scent of roasted beans and sugary pastries filled the air, a stark contrast to the sterile luxuriousness of Rafael’s mansion. Her boss, Mr. Dney, a lean man with a perpetually furrowed brow, eyed her as she tied her curls into a messy bun.


    "Eliana, you look like you’ve been through the wringer," he said, wiping down the counter. "Where were you yesterday? Can’t just disappear like that."


    "I’m so sorry, Mr. Dney," Eliana said, her voice earnest. "I was... really sick. Couldn’t even get out of bed. It won’t happen again, I promise."


    He grunted, tossing the rag over his shoulder. "Lucky for you, I’m short-staffed. But don’t pull that again without a call, got it? Next time, you’re out."


    "Yes, sir," she said, relief washing over her. She dove into her shift, steaming milk and scribbling orders, her smile masking the ache in her chest.


    For nine days, life settled into a fragile rhythm. Eliana worked grueling shifts at the coffee shop, her hands stained with coffee grounds, her feet aching from hours on her feet. She attended her college sses when she could, though her professors’ sharp words—"You’re not taking this course seriously, Miss Bet"—cut deeper each time. Her father’s cough worsened, his fevers spiking unpredictably, and their meager savings dwindled on medications that barely helped. Jason still hadn’t reached out, and Sarai – her rock – was oddly silent. Their absence felt like a wound she pretended didn’t exist. But Eliana kept moving forward, holding herself together with a quiet strength, even as the world felt heavier each day.


    <strong>********</strong>


    On the tenth night, Eliana stumbled through the door, her legs heavy from working a double shift. Every muscle in her body ached, and all she wanted was to hear her father’s voice telling her she’d done well. But the house was silent. The dim hallway smelled faintly of stale coffee and old newspapers. Somewhere in the kitchen, a leaky faucet dripped steadily, the only sound echoing in the darkness.


    "Papa? I’m home!" she called out, forcing her voice to sound bright despite the exhaustion weighing it down.


    All she heard was silence.


    A cold prickle ran down her spine. She flicked on the light, her breath catching in her throat. There, sprawled across the worn linoleum floor, was Frank. Her father’s chest was still, his face pale under the flickering bulb.


    "Papa!" The word ripped out of her in a broken scream. She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for his wrist, desperate to feel any hint of a pulse. But there was nothing. Tears blurred her vision as she fumbled with her phone, nearly dropping it twice before managing to punch in the numbers.


    "Please," she sobbed when the operator answered, her voice breaking as she tried to form the words. "My father’s not breathing. Please hurry."


    The ambnce arrived in a rush of shing red lights and hurried footsteps. Paramedics poured into the cramped apartment, their uniforms brushing against peeling wallpaper as they moved with calm urgency. Eliana stood back against the wall, her hands clenched so tight her knuckles burned. She whispered broken prayers between her sobs, her eyes locked on the paramedics as they knelt beside her father, attaching wires, checking his pulse, and pushing down on his chest in desperate rhythm.


    Time blurred. The ride to the hospital felt like floating in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. When they arrived, the harsh smell of antiseptic and the blinding white lights made her stomach twist. Everything felt too clean, too bright, too empty.


    She sat hunched in a steel chair, numb, staring at her hands when a doctor approached. The woman looked tired but kind, with gentle brown eyes and greying hair pulled back into a neat bun.


    "Miss Bet?" she said softly.


    Eliana’s head snapped up, hope and dread warring in her chest.


    "I’m sorry," the doctor continued, her voice calm but edged with urgency. "Your father has pulmonary fibrosis. It’s a serious lung condition – scar tissue builds up and makes it hard to breathe. That’s what caused his coughing, the fevers, and now the fainting."


    Eliana swallowed, her throat raw. "Can you fix it?"


    "If it’s caught early, treatment can help manage it, sometimes even let people live a normal life for years," the doctor said, her eyes softening with pity. "But in his case... it’s progressed significantly. We’ll need to start aggressive treatment right away to give him a chance. And..." She paused, her expression tightening, "it’s going to be expensive."


    Eliana’s chest ached as if her heart itself was cracking under the weight of reality. "How much?" she whispered, barely able to form the words.


    The doctor sighed, her expression weary. "With hospital stays, medications, and possible surgery... it’ll be in the tens of thousands. At least."


    Eliana felt her knees give out, but she grabbed the edge of the steel chair to keep herself upright. Tens of thousands? She didn’t even have enough to cover next month’s rent. No savings. No safety. Just her and Papa, living day to day on tips and double shifts.


    The next morning, desperation gnawed at her chest as she trudged down the street to the coffee shop and straight to Mr. Dney’s office. The man sat behind his battered wooden desk, stacks of unpaid invoices surrounding him like paper towers.


    "Please," Eliana whispered, her voice shaking as she forced herself to meet his tired eyes. "I’m begging you... I just need something upfront, or even a small loan, it’s for my father. He’s... he’s really sick."


    Mr. Dney leaned back with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "Eliana," he said softly, "I’m barely keeping this ce afloat. I don’t have that kind of money. I’m sorry."


    The finality in his tone made her stomach twist with shame and fear. She swallowed hard, nodding as tears burned her eyes. "Thank you anyway," she whispered, backing out of his office before her sobs broke free.


    She spent the rest of the day in a haze of hopelessness. As evening settled in, Eliana pulled out her phone, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it. She scrolled to Jason’s name, her thumb hovering over the call button. <i>He might know what to do,</i> she told herself, clinging to the memory of the boy who always came through for her, back when things were good... back when he still cared.


    Taking a shaky breath, she swallowed her pride and pressed call, praying he’d pick up.


    It rang and rang. No answer. She called again. Still nothing.


    Her heart hammering, she switched to Sarai’s number, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. Sarai would help. She always helped.


    But Sarai didn’t pick up either. Eliana called over and over until her thumbs went numb. By nightfall, neither of their numbers would even ring – blocked, disconnected, gone.


    Eliana sank onto the edge of her mattress, staring nkly at the peeling wallpaper on her wall. The silence in her tiny apartment felt louder than any scream.


    "They’re probably just busy," she whispered to herself, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She forced herself to take a shaking breath, clinging to the only hope she had left. "They wouldn’t abandon me. Not Sarai. She wouldn’t do that."


    <strong>********</strong>


    On the twelfth day, Eliana stood before her cracked bedroom mirror, tugging down the hem of her dress—a simple pink frock that hugged her slender frame just right. She ran her brush through her curls until they gleamed under the weak bulb’s glow, whispering a shaky prayer. "Please... just let today be different," she breathed, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. She needed Jason and Sarai now more than ever.


    The private hostel where they lived loomed like a fortress, guarded by high walls and iron gates. Security officers patrolled the entrance, men in stiff uniforms who knew her face but she knew they’d never let her through without suspicion. After all, she had been kicked out.


    As she approached, she lifted her chin, forcing her spine straight even though her knees felt weak.


    "Miss Bet, you know the drill," grunted Carl, a stocky guard with a round face and bored eyes. He crossed his arms, blocking her path. "Residents only. Unless you’re on the list."


    Eliana forced out a bright smile, ignoring the tightness in her chest. "I know, Carl, but Sarai asked me to drop off her notes for finals. She’s expecting me. It’s urgent—her professor’s strict about submissions."


    Carl studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before he sighed and waved her in. "Make it quick."


    Relief washed over her like cool water on sunburned skin as she stepped into the hostel’s grand lobby. Marble floors stretched out beneath her feet, polished to a mirror sheen, and crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead. She remembered walking these halls with pride once, back when she still had Grandpa H. The memory burned, but she pushed it down, focusing on her mission.


    She hurried to Jason’s room first, knocking softly. But silence was all she heard. She tried again, pressing her ear to the door, but there was nothing. Her stomach twisted painfully.


    Determined, she turned down the hallway and approached Sarai’s suite. Plush carpet muffled her footsteps as she neared the heavy wooden door. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out into the hallway.


    She raised her hand to knock, but paused when she heard voices—low, intimate, familiar in a way that made her chest tighten with dread. Heart hammering, she leaned forward and peered through the gap.


    Inside, Saraiy sprawled across her silk-sheeted bed, her long glossy hair tumbling over the pillows. Jason was above her, his golden hair damp with sweat, his bare shoulders glistening under the softmplight. Sarai’s legs were hooked around his waist as she let out a tinklingugh, a sound both cruel and triumphant.


    "Ahh, Jason, you’re so much better with me," Sarai purred, her manicured nails trailingzy patterns down his back. "Eliana’s just... pathetic. She could never keep up."


    Jason chuckled softly, brushing his lips against her neck. "She’s sweet, yeah. But you’re fire, Sarai. You always have been."


    Something inside Eliana broke with a quiet, devastating snap. Her breath hitched, and she pped a trembling hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. Tears welled up, blurring her vision until the image of them twisted and melted into cruel colours.


    She stumbled back, the door creaking under her shaky grip, but they didn’t notice. Her fiancé. Her best friends. Tangled together, whispering poison about her between gasps of pleasure.


    The hallway spun around her, the chandelier lights smearing into gold and white streaks as she backed away. Her prayers, her trust, her love—all of it shattered in an instant, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in her chest and a bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue. The world she’d clung to crumbled around her, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but her and the cold, brutal truth.