Filed to story: The Heiress Rises From Ashes Book PDF Free
Julia stepped in, taking a careful look at Rosie’s wrist. The skin was smooth, the bones intact-no swelling, no fractures, not even a hint of a sprain.
She said, “Mr. Dalton Harper, Miss Rosie Harper’s wrist shows no signs of injury.”
Rosie shouted, “That’s impossible! I’m in agony! You are lying!”
Brenna responded with a shrug, her tone indifferent. “Who can say whether you’re faking it or not? Let’s go to the hospital and get your wrist checked.”
She looked at Dalton, seeking his opinion.
Dalton glanced down at his phone.
The files had loaded, revealing rows upon rows of folders filled with intricate designs of car exteriors and parts.
Brenna explained, her voice steady, “These are my award-winning designs from international competitions over the last five years-they include cars, helicopters, and ferries.”
Rosie’s complexion turned a guilty shade of red, her expression shifting uneasily. “That’s impossible! These designs are cutting-edge. How could you possibly have such skill? You’re lying! You must have stolen these designs from other people just to show off!”
Rosie’s fury was evident as her face twisted. She said, “Brenna, stop pretending. I’ve already looked into it. To achieve this level of design skill, you’d need at least twenty years of experience. Even if your diploma is real, how long have you actually been working? How much design experience do you really have? With your background, you probably haven’t even worked on any significant projects, let alone designed so many products on your own. It’s simply impossible.”
Brenna understood that Rosie’s outburst was fueled by envy and the perceived loss of her parents’ affection.
She recognized there was no changing Rosie’s bitter and narrow-minded attitude.
She said, “Believe what you want, but I’m under no obligation to justify my credentials to you. You were caught red-handed trying to steal my work, and now, instead of showing any remorse, you are accusing me? This is out of line, Rosie.”
Her tone was stern as she warned Rosie, “I’m not one to be trifled with. Just because I’ve just returned to the family doesn’t mean I can be bullied easily.”
The incident involving the wrist was merely a small lesson, a signal for Rosie to tread more carefully. Further provocations would lead to more than temporary pain.
Rosie shot a glare at Brenna. “When have I ever bullied you?”
She thrust her wrist forward. “My wrist still hurts, and you’re accusing me of bullying you? Who’s the real bully here?”
Dalton sighed audibly, showing his impatience with Rosie. He said, “Why can’t you accept that Brenna might just be both young and talented? Isn’t it a good thing that she’s so successful? Why do you have such a problem with her? Can’t you two just get along?”
Dalton’s frustration was evident; he couldn’t grasp the root of Rosie’s hostility towards Brenna.
Rosie felt both wronged and upset. There was a time when Dalton’s full attention was on her. He would spoil her, take her out for fun, and give her whatever she wanted. But now, with Brenna back, Dalton took Brenna everywhere, lavishing her with affection as if she were the only one who mattered.
This was a painful adjustment for her.
She exclaimed, “Dalton, you’ve never treated me like this before! Brenna is driving me insane, and you don’t care about me at all!”
Dalton’s patience was wearing thin.
Dalton’s patience was wearing thin. “Brenna has just returned, so naturally, I’m spending more time with her. Why can’t you accept that instead of constantly trying to compete with her over everything?” he said.
Rosie couldn’t contain her frustration and raised her voice in retort. “Why shouldn’t I compete with her? When you take her out, why not include me? Wouldn’t that be better for all of us?”
In a moment of distress, she flung her arm, only to wince as pain shot through her wrist. She grimaced, clutching it tightly.
Observing her genuine discomfort, Dalton took her by the other hand. “Let’s get you to a hospital now.”
Rosie shot Brenna a look filled with anger.
At the hospital, Rosie underwent a thorough examination-X-rays, CT scans, MRIs-all revealing no physical damage to her wrist.
The doctor, observing the lack of any physical injury, mused silently on the drama often brought on by the wealthy for minor or nonexistent injuries.
Meanwhile, Brenna watched Rosie with an indifferent, almost amused look. “Cut the act. The tests show there’s nothing wrong. You can’t seriously still be claiming to be in pain, right?” she said.
Rosie, however, maintained that her pain persisted, albeit diminished. She turned to the doctor, puzzled and upset. Why couldn’t the doctor see that she was indeed injured?
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? I want a different doctor!” Rosie shouted, her anger boiling over.
Dalton’s frustration reached a tipping point. “That’s enough! The tests are clear-no injuries, no fractures. How can you continue to complain of pain?”
Feeling deeply aggrieved, Rosie glared at Brenna and said, “Something’s not right. How can the doctors find nothing wrong? Brenna, what have you done to me?”
Dalton stepped in to protect Brenna, visibly annoyed. “You’re obviously fine. I’m taking Brenna to an art exhibit now. I don’t have time for this. You can go back on your own,” he said.
With a sly smile, Brenna waved at Rosie and left with Dalton.
Yet Rosie was not ready to give up. She enlisted Rachael’s help to consult several more doctors, all of whom found no physical ailments, leaving them confused by her claims.
Despite the doctors’ assessments, the pain felt agonizingly real to Rosie.
In the hospital corridor, Rosie tearfully left a voice message for Ernst. “Ernst, Brenna is bullying me. I merely accessed her computer, and she hurt my wrist for it. Now, my wrist is in so much pain that I can barely move it. She refuses to apologize, claiming I’m making a fuss over nothing. I found that she has taken numerous advanced designs, possibly for the competition. This isn’t how our family behaves. We can’t let her do something so reckless to embarrass us.”
As night settled in, Dalton’s luxury sports car pulled into the driveway, its engine fading to a quiet hum as the vehicle came to a stop. The clock had already ticked past ten when he stepped out, ushering Brenna inside the house.
“Take those two paintings up to Brenna’s room,” Dalton instructed the servants, nodding toward the trunk as he made his way toward the front door.
The two paintings, though modest in size, each held a unique charm. One depicted a rose bush in full bloom, its delicate petals seemingly alive with color, while the other portrayed a serene farmhouse courtyard. The imagery was rich with pastoral simplicity-a hen clucked softly, surrounded by her chicks, while the earth was dotted with sorghum. In the corner of the scene, a content cat rested, a chick perched serenely on its back, creating a moment of unexpected harmony.
Julia and a servant carefully lifted the paintings, their movements cautious as they followed Brenna toward the elevator.