Around noon, I picked at my supposedly luxurious hospital lunch, each bite feeling dry and difficult to swallow. Anxiety churned in my stomach, turning the food to cardboard in my mouth. I sighed and pushed the tray away, my thoughts already consumed by the inevitable arrival.
Just then, a sharp knock – tock, tock – echoed through the quiet room, making my already frayed nerves jump.
He's here!
Click– The door slowly creaked open, and a man stepped in.
My breath hitched.
He was… breathtaking.
So strikingly handsome that I almost had a nosebleed on the spot. His sky-blue eyes were the same as Mike's , but his features were softer, more refined, like a prince from a Disney fairytale. He was perhaps a little shorter than Mike and Mikael, but his presence filled the room, making him seem much larger.
Unlike Mikael's sharp intensity or Mike's youthful charm, this man possessed an effortless, aristocratic grace. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating his golden-blond hair like spun gold, only emphasizing the almost unreal perfection of the Ceneric bloodline.
It struck me then: the true connection between them wasn't just the piercing blue eyes or the golden hair. It was this impossible beauty they all carried, as if it were woven into their very DNA. Except for me, of course – Mia, with long black hair that seemed completely out of place. Dye, maybe?
I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"Hello, eldest brother," I managed, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound composed.
His gaze locked onto mine – sharp, assessing. He studied me intently, from the top of my head to my toes, his piercing blue eyes unreadable, as if he were weighing my very essence. For a moment, I braced myself for a barrage of questions. But instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"You—" he began, his voice low and smooth, but then he stopped himself. He seemed to have a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but chose to hold them back for now.
"Never mind," he said, stepping back towards the door with a fluid, controlled movement. "Finish your lunch, get dressed. I'll take care of the discharge paperwork first."
Even his voice – calm, deep, and elegant – was like music, so pleasant it was almost jarring. I could only blink and nod dumbly. "O-okay," I stammered.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me standing there, dazed and clutching my hospital gown. Try to recover my trembling heart.
Then, I stumbled towards the nearby closet, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste. Throwing the door open, I grabbed the first set of clothes I could find – no time for choices now. Clutching them to my chest, I hurried to the bathroom, my hospital slippers squeaking against the floor.
I needed to change quickly. The sooner I was ready, the sooner we could leave this hospital, and the less time he'd have to ask questions. My plan was simple: get discharged, get home, and disappear into my room – well, Mia's room – before anyone thought it was a good idea to interrogate me.
Hide first, deal with the world later.
My hands trembled slightly as I pulled the loose hospital gown over my head. The harsh fluorescent light above made me feel even more vulnerable. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror – pale, anxious, unfamiliar – and quickly looked away.
Focus, Mia. Focus.
Change, escape, survive.
One step at a time.
***
Clutching a bouquet of flowers in one hand and two crumpled sheets of paper in the other, I hurried out of the private elevator, my steps quick and almost frantic, as if I were trying to outrun something unseen. Behind me, my eldest brother, Martin, followed at a relaxed pace, radiating an air of calm that nothing seemed to disturb.
A few steps behind him came his secretary—a sharp young man in a tailored black suit, his black-rimmed glasses sitting perfectly on his nose—carrying my small collection of bags with practiced ease.
Stepping out of the hospital's grand revolving doors, we were met by the warm sunlight and the sight of a sleek, black Bentley gleaming at the curb. Even the unique, customized license plate practically shouted wealth. The uniformed driver gave a respectful bow before smoothly opening the back door for us.
A wave of self-consciousness washed over me under the sudden attention – not just from the hospital staff, but also from people passing by, who openly stared at our little group with wide, curious eyes, as if we were A-list celebrities straight out of a tabloid magazine.
Oh my god, I thought, feeling a little dizzy. Is this what it's like to be a young miss from a billionaire family?
Everything about the car screamed luxury – the polished, elegant exterior, the soft leather seats that looked like they were designed for sinking into, the faint, sophisticated scent of expensive cologne in the air.
Even the way the sunlight bounced off its flawless surface was almost blinding. Look at this car! I squealed internally. So big, so shiny, so unbelievably comfortable! Never – not even in my wildest fantasies – had I imagined riding in something this extravagant.
Lost in my amazement, I didn't notice the subtle attention beside me.
Martin, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, was quietly watching me from the corner of his eye. His expression was unreadable, his sharp, light-blue eyes studying me with an intensity that sent a slight shiver down my spine.
I quickly glanced away, pretending to be absorbed by the Bentley's luxurious interior, but a strange feeling stirred within me.
Eldest brother… what thoughts are hidden behind that composed face? I don't dare expect much. Just… please, be a little kinder to me.