From Ruin, She Rose - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Emily lunged at Lydia, driven by the same desperate instinct that had haunted her for two years. But Lydia jerked her arm up, sending the clothes flying into the air.
For Emily, time seemed to stretch. She watched as Vincent and Emma rushed to grab Lydia, as Lydia reeled back with deliberate carelessness. She seemed to see the Bennetts grabbing ropes, ready to drag her to the St. Gabriel Reform Academy again.
Emily stumbled backward without thinking, unaware of the clothing racks behind her.
A sharp crash echoed as the rack hit the floor. Emily lost her balance, and the metal frame collapsed around her, snagging her clothes and leaving her tangled and exposed.
Lydia had fallen too, but Vincent and Emma caught her before she hit the ground. Her hair was still neatly arranged, though her face twisted in pain. "Mom, Vincent, my foot," she whispered.
Vincent knelt beside her, carefully lifting her ankle.
The polished shoe made her skin look even more delicate and flawless at first glance. But when his fingers grazed some spot, Lydia flinched with a sharp gasp.
Emma's face twisted with worry and frustration. "Is it that serious? Vincent, we have to get Lydia to the hospital now."
Without a word, Vincent nodded and gathered Lydia into his arms.
As he turned to leave, his gaze instinctively flicked toward Emily, who was still slumped against the shelves, her face ghostly pale. The frayed hem of her yellow dress had ridden up, exposing a strip of bare thigh.
When his eyes lingered there for half a second too long, Emily hastily pulled the fabric down, fixing her stare on the floorboards.
She hadn't pushed Lydia now, just as she hadn't two years ago, but no one had believed her. They'd shipped her off to St. Gabriel Reform Academy instead.
Vincent's jaw tightened, a question forming on his lips until Lydia whimpered, clutching at his collar. "Vincent, it hurts."
Instantly, his attention returned to Lydia. He murmured, his expression tightening with worry, "It's all right. We're getting you to the hospital."
Cradling Lydia close, Vincent hurried out. Emma trailed behind, her face etched with panic. Neither spared a glance for Emily, who was still curled on the floor.
To Emily, their indifference came as a relief. The thought of being sent back to St. Gabriel Reform Academy made her blood run cold—she knew she wouldn't survive there another day.
As the three of them departed, every customer and clerk in the boutique turned to stare at Emily. Yet not a single person stepped forward to assist.
The staff had taken their cue from Vincent and Lydia's cold dismissal of Emily, their indifference now carefully replicated.
The manager stalked over, her expression dark. "These are limited-edition designer pieces," she said coldly. "Do you understand what that means? Could you possibly cover the damages?"
Emily's face burned. "I'm sorry," she stammered, struggling to stand while desperately clutching the torn fabric to her thigh. But the tear ran from hip to hem—no matter how she tried to hold it closed, patches of bare skin still showed through.
After a moment's hesitation, Emily removed her hoodie and tied it around her waist to cover her exposed skin.
As she did, the shop's murmurs died abruptly, replaced by shocked whispers.
Her sleeveless dress now revealed far more skin than it concealed. Where once there had been a porcelain-perfect complexion from eighteen years of careful upbringing, now only angry scars and burn marks remained.
The crowd's stunned reactions told her everything. Their pity and morbid curiosity needed no words.
Emily ignored the stares and let her hair curtain her face, shielding her scars from view.
At St. Gabriel Reform Academy, injuries were routine among the ten people they'd stripped of human dignity. While the other people carried gruesome marks, her scars looked almost gentle by comparison.
Crouching to collect the fallen clothes and racks, Emily kept apologizing under her breath. "I'm truly sorry. I'll cover any damages, but I'll need time. I don't have the money now."
The Bennetts had sent her to that institution before she could complete her schooling, leaving her with no qualifications and empty pockets. The price tags on these clothes might as well have been astronomical numbers—she couldn't possibly afford a single item.
The store manager instinctively moved to steady the racks alongside Emily. As she caught sight of the fresh bruises on Emily's face and the half-healed cuts along her arms, her stern demeanor softened.
She was just an ordinary employee trying to keep her job—but with no supervisor around, she decided to let it slide.
After a quick inspection of the merchandise, she gave an awkward cough. "Nothing's ruined. Just go. Be more careful next time."
Emily recognized compassion when she saw it. She wasn't naive enough to miss that.
Emily offered the manager a quiet "Thank you" before turning away. Under the gaze of onlookers—some curious, others pitying—she exited the mall that had once brought her so much joy.
Two streets over, a street vendor's call pierced through the city sounds. "Closing sale! Tees for $10. Pants for $20. Last chance."
A group of silver-haired shoppers rummaged through the displayed clothing.
Emily looked down at her own torn dress—it was beyond wearing now. She moved to the stall and picked out a loose long-sleeved shirt and a pair of straight-leg pants. The total came to thirty dollars.
She only had the thirty-one dollars she'd found in the hoodie. After setting aside six dollars for bus fare between St. Gabriel's and home, she was left with just twenty-five.
With tentative steps, Emily approached the seller. "Would you consider twenty-five for these?" She extended her meager cash offering. "It's all I've got."
The vendor barely looked up from his other customers before noticing the small bills in Emily's palm. With a good-natured laugh, he flashed his QR code. "Can't do it, sweetheart. Profit margins. Digital payment's fine though."
Heat rose in Emily's face as she confessed, "I don't have a phone."
The elderly customers cast sympathetic glances her way. Emily's cheeks burned with quiet humiliation.
No education, no phone, no job, no money, no home—she didn't even have decent clothes to wear. This wasn't how her life was supposed to turn out.
Her fingers clenched around the loose change in her palm. 'I'll just buy one pair of pants,' she mused. 'This dress can be shortened into a top.'
She was about to walk away when a soft voice stopped her. "Are you in trouble, dear?"
An elderly woman held Emily's hand, her eyes darkening with grief as they traveled from Emily's swollen cheek to the scars lining her arms. "No one should treat you this way."
"Speaking up is important," another person advised gently. "Silence only encourages cruelty."
"Exactly," an elderly man added. "There are systems to help people in your situation. If you need help, go to social services. I'll accompany you if you'd like."
"Everyone faces difficulties sometimes. This too shall pass," the vendor said. "Just take these clothes. Consider them a gift."
A cool compress appeared in her hands. "For the swelling," a voice explained. "It'd be a shame to see such a beautiful face damaged."
Emily felt her throat constrict. After so much hardship, this unexpected compassion nearly broke her.