Too Late To Beg The Heiress

The rusted metal door of the trailer slammed against the exterior siding with a screech that vibrated through the floorboards.

Arielle's fingers froze on the zipper of her faded canvas duffel bag.

Mabel stormed into the cramped space, her heavy boots tracking mud across the peeling linoleum. She didn't hesitate. She grabbed the strap of Arielle's bag and hurled it out the open doorway. It landed with a sickening splash in the center of a muddy pothole. The filthy rainwater immediately soaked through the bottom fabric.

Arielle didn't flinch. The temperature in her chest plummeted, leaving behind a hollow, freezing void.

"Get the hell out, you ungrateful parasite!" Mabel screamed, her face flushed a mottled, ugly red. Flecks of spit flew from her lips. "Eighteen years! We fed you for eighteen years just to keep Kimora breathing, and this is how you repay us? You're nothing but a walking blood bag!"

Arielle shifted her weight, tilting her head just enough so the flying saliva missed her cheek. She kept her face entirely blank.

Next door, the faded floral curtains of Mrs. Higgins' trailer twitched. The elderly woman peeked out, her eyes wide, but the second Mabel shot a venomous glare in her direction, the curtains snapped shut.

There was no help here. There never had been.

"The keys," Mabel demanded, taking a heavy step forward. She thrust out a meaty palm. "Hand over the spare keys. Now."

Arielle reached into the pocket of her thin, worn jacket. Her fingers brushed the jagged metal of the key. She pulled it out and, without breaking eye contact, opened her hand. The key dropped, landing with a soft clink in the thick mud caking the floorboards.

Mabel let out a guttural sound of rage and bent over to snatch it.

The second the older woman's eyes left her, Arielle stepped over the threshold and walked straight into the torrential downpour. The icy rain hit her instantly, plastering her cheap cotton shirt to her skin and sending violent shivers down her spine.

"Don't you ever think about coming back!" Mabel's voice cracked over the roar of the storm. "You won't get another cent from the Tysons! You'll rot in the gutter!"

A crack of thunder swallowed the rest of the threat. Arielle didn't break her stride.

She reached the pothole and crouched down. The mud coated her knuckles as she grabbed the handles of her duffel bag. She didn't care about the cheap clothes inside. Her thumb pressed against the false bottom, feeling the hard, rectangular outline of the micro-computer. Intact.

Tires crunched over the gravel behind her.

A massive, black Lincoln Navigator turned into the narrow dirt lane of the trailer park. The heavy tires hit a puddle, sending a wave of brown sludge splashing up. Arielle took a sharp half-step back, her shoulder blades hitting the wet wood of a telephone pole.

The Lincoln's engine purred. The passenger door swung open.

Brenda stepped out, a designer umbrella popping open to shield her