Chapter 2
Chapter Two (continued)
The Spark of Hope
At fourteen, Rayna discovered the back garden.
It had once belonged to her mother, filled with roses and white lilies. Now it was overgrown and wild, thorns tangled with weeds, petals suffocated by time. No one visited it anymore. Not her father. Not the cousins. Not Carmelita.
Which made it the perfect hiding place.
She went there after chores, kneeling in the dirt, clearing dead leaves by hand. She'd hum songs her mother used to play, though the melodies came broken. It was her sanctuary—a tiny piece of beauty that no one had stolen yet.
And then, one afternoon, he came.
"Your roses look pissed off."
Rayna jumped. A boy stood beyond the rusted gate, holding a garden rake twice his size. He was tall, lean, with skin bronzed by sun and eyes that smiled even when his lips didn't.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Brian," he said. "I used to live here. My dad was the gardener before the new lady fired him. I sneak in sometimes. Don't tell."
She didn't. She never would.
From that moment on, Brian returned every other week. They worked in silence at first—Rayna tugging weeds, Brian trimming vines—but slowly, the silence filled with laughter. He brought food sometimes—fresh rolls, ripe mangoes, leftover ice cream from his aunt's cafe. It tasted like heaven.
"Why are you always alone?" he asked her once, under the moonlight as they shared a bottle of soda.
She shrugged. "I guess I'm invisible."
"You're not," he said. "You're fire in disguise."
---
The Age of Knowing
By seventeen, Rayna had grown into the kind of woman who turned heads—graceful, soft-spoken, with the poise of old money and the pain of quiet suffering. She cooked every meal in the house but was never invited to eat. She cleaned floors in heels that no longer fit. She mended her cousins' designer dresses while wearing hand-me-downs.
But her fire was quietly growing.
Every secret visit from Brian stoked it.
He had changed too. No longer the lanky boy with tools—he was now tall, broad-shouldered, his voice low and steady. He worked at a local construction firm and tutored kids for extra cash. He always brought something for Rayna: a book, a scarf, once a second-hand phone with one cracked corner.
They kissed for the first time under the old rose arch.
It was clumsy, sweet, the kind of kiss that made Rayna cry after he left. Not because she was sad, but because for once in her life, she felt real. Wanted. Seen.
They dreamed of a future together—one far away from the marble prison she lived in.
"I'll marry you," he whispered one night. "And I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
Rayna believed him.
But danger was already circling.
---
The Inheritance Clock
Victor Yran, her father, had grown pale and quiet. His hair had thinned, his presence in the house ghostlike. He barely looked at Rayna anymore. Carmelita always intercepted. Always whispered. Always convinced him she was managing things.
She wasn't managing—she was stealing.
Rayna overheard it one day.
Carmelita, shouting into the phone in the wine cellar.
"You said I'd have full access once she's of age! What do you mean there's a clause?! I've waited twenty damn years!"
Rayna pressed her ear closer.
"…If she marries before the inheritance transfers—what? No! That girl has no one. She's never leaving this house!"
Rayna's heart stopped.
They were talking about her. About the will. About the assets her father had left in her name—hidden until her twenty-first birthday. Carmelita had been biding her time. Playing the long game.
She didn't want Rayna to live until twenty-one.
And now, Rayna had someone.
Brian.
Which meant she had everything to lose.
---
The Proposal
Brian proposed under a sky full of stars with a silver ring he'd saved for months to buy. It was small, modest, and it fit her finger like a promise written in fate.
"I don't care if we're poor," he said. "I just want you safe. Loved. Free."
Rayna nodded, holding back tears. "Let's leave. Tonight."
But they didn't get the chance.
---
The Crash
Carmelita smiled at breakfast the next morning. Offered Rayna juice.
"Congratulations on turning twenty-one," she said. "Your father would be proud."
Rayna didn't drink the juice.
Her bag was already packed. She would meet Brian by the docks at 2:00 PM. They'd take a ferry. Start over. Find jobs. Build a life from scratch. She didn't care about the inheritance anymore.
She just wanted out.
But fate—or perhaps wicked hands—intervened.
She never saw the black car. Just the scream of tires, the flash of glass, the violent spin of sky and metal. The impact stole her breath.
Then silence.
---
The Man in the Rain
Alon Mendoza was on his way to the hospital when he saw the crash.
The roads were slick with rain, the kind of rain that blurred vision and memory alike. The wreck was twisted metal. A body, limp inside.
He pulled over, heart pounding, and ran toward the wreckage.
"Help!" someone shouted. "Is anyone still alive?!"
He forced the passenger door open. Blood. Broken glass. A faint pulse.
"Call an ambulance!" he barked.
He didn't know her name. Didn't know the story. But something in her broken body reminded him of his wife, lying in that hospital bed with machines breathing for her.
---
The Donation
"You're saying there's no match?"
"She won't survive the night without a compatible donor."
Alon stood in the hospital hallway, soaked and trembling. In the next room, his wife—Elaine—lay barely conscious. Machines beeped steadily. Her organs were failing. Her body was slipping away.
He hadn't told her about the girl yet. About the one he'd rescued.
He didn't need to.
Elaine turned her head slowly. "You saved someone, didn't you?"
He blinked. "Yes."
Her lips barely moved. "Then let me save her."
"Elaine…"
She smiled faintly. "Let my death… mean something."
---
The Awakening
Rayna awoke in a white room filled with flowers.
Her chest ached. Her vision was blurry. But her heart beat steady.
Stronger.
Familiar, yet… not.
She didn't recognize the man sitting beside her. He was in his thirties, sharp suit loosened at the collar, dark hair tousled. He looked tired—but his eyes held a softness she'd never seen before.
"Hi," he said gently. "You're safe."
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"Alon. I'm… a friend. You were in an accident. You've been unconscious for weeks."
She touched her chest. Something felt different.
"You had surgery," he said. "A transplant. The woman who… donated to you… she wanted you to live."
Rayna's throat tightened. She didn't speak for a long time.
When she finally looked at him again, her eyes held a strange glimmer.
"Why would a stranger save me?"
"Maybe," he said, standing slowly, "because you were meant to do something more with your life than just survive.