From Ruin, She Rose - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Emily stayed calm as she plucked glass fragments from her palm before binding the wound with a strip of cloth. Her practiced movements suggested this wasn't her first time tending to injuries.
She hated staying at the Bennett residence more each day, but Charles insisted she remain here, and her empty pockets left her no choice. Walking out now meant sleeping on the streets.
Her plan took shape with cold determination—she would escape the Bennett family and learn to support herself, beginning with the urgent task of securing employment.
The first eighteen years of her life had been filled with the Bennetts' love. Then Lydia returned, leading to two years of futile attempts to regain their affection, followed by two harsh years at St. Gabriel Reform Academy.
Painting remained her only marketable skill. It had been her passion since childhood, and she'd even attended art school briefly, though she never completed her degree.
Now, those painting skills would have to be her salvation.
She needed supplies, but refused to use anything provided by the Bennetts. She couldn't endure another minute in this oppressive environment.
Thankfully, she still had one unused set of painting tools. It was a gift from the first person who'd befriended her without knowing she was a Bennett heiress. For the first time, something in her life was truly hers, completely separate from that family.
Emily spent the night locked in her room, unwilling to face the others. It wasn't until daybreak that she finally emerged.
Her former bedroom had been completely transformed into Lydia's personal dressing room. The servants had packed up all of Emily's possessions and dumped them in the villa's back storage area.
The storage room was vast and crammed with boxes. Emily searched for what felt like ages before locating her things.
The contents that had once filled an entire bedroom now barely occupied a single cardboard box—just some worn clothes and random trinkets.
The servant accompanying her shifted uncomfortably. "Ms. Bennett said your belongings brought back difficult memories," she explained awkwardly. "So Mrs. Bennett wanted everything thrown away. Only these few items were saved."
Emily showed no reaction. She pushed aside the meaningless clutter and dug straight to the bottom, retrieving her precious art case. Though dented at one corner, it remained otherwise unharmed.
This was the only item in the box that held any real value to her. Emily's brow furrowed as she realized something was missing—her sketchbook should have been there too.
She remembered packing that sketchbook, filled with drawings she'd painstakingly created as a gift for the friend who had given her the art set. But she'd been sent to St. Gabriel's before she could finish it.
Convinced it must have been misplaced, Emily spent hours combing through the storage room. The servant could offer no help. In the end, Emily walked away empty-handed, a dull ache of disappointment settling in her chest.
Two years of silence had passed, and Emily wondered if her friend had forgotten her entirely. The thought brought a pang of sadness, but she knew survival couldn't wait for sentimentality.
She carefully packed the art supplies away. After her daily hospital visit to see Charles, she began her job search.
With no computer access or work experience, opportunities were scarce. By day's end, she'd secured a position in a restaurant kitchen.
The monthly salary barely covered what she used to spend on a single meal, yet she felt nothing but gratitude now.
The job provided three meals daily, freeing her from scavenging leftovers in the Bennetts' kitchen. She still lacked proper housing, but at least she'd escaped their constant scrutiny.
The kitchen work was brutal. During the dinner rush, blistering oil seared her arms while the sweltering heat pressed down like a weight. But Emily welcomed it—each burn proved she was still alive.
After years of torment, this honest suffering felt like freedom.
Emily fell into a new routine—waking before dawn for work, stopping by the hospital to see Charles when her shift ended early, and slipping back to the Bennett residence only late at night when everyone was sleeping.
Two weeks had slipped by since Emily's return, and the Bennetts had nearly forgotten her presence. She remained an afterthought until Lydia declared the welcome party preparations complete.
The family moved through its routines with quiet efficiency, its attention focused solely on Lydia's impending graduation. Emily's existence barely registered in their daily lives.
Emma's rare inquiries about her were perfunctory at best. "What's Emily been doing lately?"
Andrew was the first to answer, "She spends most days at the hospital with Grandpa."
Since assuming the CEO role, Andrew kept brutal hours, which explained his rare encounters with Emily. She'd offer nothing beyond a terse "Mr. Bennett" before disappearing.
Emma's lips thinned. "Visiting Charles daily is excessive. She can't even bother joining family meals."
The mention of family meals made Gale stiffen. His face darkened as he remembered seeing Emily wolfing down food in the kitchen like some starved stray.
His fork clattered against his plate. "First she ate like an animal, so I told her to learn some table manners before joining us again. Now she won't even come to the table? After eighteen years under this roof, this is how she repays us?"
Gale's outburst shattered the pleasant dinner mood.
Lucas scowled in irritation. They'd been having such a nice meal until Lydia brought up that unpleasant subject.
Lydia's eyes darted nervously around the table. "Did I ruin everything by talking about the welcome party?" she asked in a small voice.
"Not your fault," Lucas said quickly, noticing Lydia's expression had grown uneasy. He softened his tone. "You're always thinking of others. If Emily showed half your kindness, she wouldn't be so difficult to deal with."
Lydia's face brightened with relief as she looked at him adoringly. "Lucas, you're always so sweet."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Why don't you tell Emily about the party? But let it be a lovely surprise when she gets to the hotel. Then she'll see how much thought we've put into this."
Lydia's eyes gleamed with quiet calculation. 'Lucas is exactly what I need—always so direct and impulsive. He'll try to be subtle, but it'll only come across as clumsy and irritating. And that's precisely what will set Emily off.'
The way Lydia gazed at him, like he was her only ally in the world, made refusal impossible.
"Don't worry about a thing," Lucas declared, thumping his chest. That evening, he planted himself in the living room, determined to wait for Emily's return.
Yet when Emily came home, she just found Lucas passed out on the couch. She gave his sleeping form a quick glance before walking past him to her room.
There was a time she would have gently shaken him awake, urging him to bed, or at least covered him with a blanket.
But experience had taught her better. Every attempt had earned only his irritation. "Get off my case. Lydia knows enough to leave me be. Why can't you?" he'd snap.
She understood her place now—exactly as he'd intended. She wouldn't disturb him anymore.
The next morning, Emily moved through the living room without even looking at the couch, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead as she passed by where he still slept.
Lucas came to with a servant shaking his shoulder, the chill hitting him the moment he woke up. A harsh sneeze exploded from him as he pawed at the empty space beside him. But after patting around, he realized there wasn't one.
He ran a hand through his messy hair and glared at the servant. "Where's Emily? She must've seen me sleeping here. Why didn't she wake me up? She couldn't even bother to toss a blanket my way?"