Stealing Cinderella(75)

“Oh, Thorsen.” She brings a trembling hand to her lips, holding back her pain. “I’m so sorry he was incapable of seeing how lucky we were to have a son like you.”

“I don’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says. “I want you to tell me the truth, always. Even if it hurts me. Especially when it hurts. Promise me you will from now on.”

“I promise.”

Through the tears in her eyes, I can see light again. “Now, can we move forward?”

I lean in and kiss her on the cheek before I turn her toward the door, so I can take her back to her room.

“There’s something I have to do first.”





Charlotte hasn’t answered my texts or calls, and I’m beginning to wonder how much of a friend she can really be to Ella. Olivia has been silent too, and my irritation only compounds as the plane taxis in from the runway.

Han called me this morning to alert me he finally had something. A port document stating Ella got off the ferry in London early this morning. As soon as the jet was ready, I was on it. But her friends' sudden silence leaves me with more questions than answers. Now that I’m in London, something feels off, and I can’t identify the reason for this lingering tightness in my chest. It isn’t until I take my phone off airplane mode that a slew of notifications floods in.

There are three missed calls from Olivia and two from Charlotte, along with a handful of texts requesting I call either of them. The tone is unmistakably urgent, and I can’t seem to dial Charlotte fast enough.

“Hello?” She sniffles on the other end of the line.

“It’s me,” I tell her. “Where is she?”

“Ella’s in the hospital!” she cries out.

My heart slows to a crawl, and the phone nearly slips from my grasp. “What?”

“She took something. Olivia found her at the sanctuary, and there was a bottle of Nerium oleander beside her.”

My vision swims, and I feel my body swaying as the plane comes to a halt. This can’t be real. I’m shaking my head, but the words aren’t coming, and when I finally force them out, I don’t recognize my own voice.

“Ella wouldn’t do that.”

“She did!” Charlotte sobs on the other end of the line.

I drag in a breath and try to focus on what I need to do. What is the next logical step? Because right now, I’m too fucking numb to string a sentence together.

“What hospital?” I choke out.

“Hawkhurst,” Charlotte answers.

“How long has it been?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice rises. “Olivia found her thirty minutes ago. We don’t know how long it was before that.”

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up the phone without waiting for a response and meet the driver as I exit the plane, giving him instructions to take me to Hawkhurst right away. When I’m in the car, I dial my mother’s nurse. After a brief argument with her about waking my mother, she puts her on the line.

“Thorsen?” she asks sleepily. “Is everything okay?”

“The antidote.” My words are stilted, barely audible. “What is the antidote for the oleander?”

“Thorsen, no—” She releases a sorrowful sob.

“It isn’t for me, but I need to know right now. Please, Mor… there isn’t time.”

“Charcoal would be the first option,” she responds with jarring breaths between words. “Then intravenous magnesium, possibly atropine. But those have their own risks, particularly if the heart is affected. It depends on the dosage. The entire bottle, it’s highly unlikely any of those things will help. Who took the oleander?”

“I’ll explain later,” I apologize. “I have to go. Just… don’t worry about me.”

I disconnect the call and text the information to Charlotte while asking the driver how far away we are. He tells me we are still forty minutes out, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so fucking useless. When I dial Charlotte again, she answers breathlessly.

“They’ve already given her charcoal,” she says. “And I told the doctor what you said, but they won’t give us any other information.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you really her boss?” Charlotte asks, seemingly confused. “How do you know so much about the oleander?”

I stare out the window, wishing what I was about to say wasn’t true. “She got it from me.”

The other end of the line falls silent, and I don’t doubt that her friend is already convicting me and sentencing me to death. But none of her thoughts could be any worse than what I’m already thinking myself. I fucked up, and I hate myself for it. But more than that, I’m terrified for Ella.

“Please keep me updated. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay,” Charlotte answers woodenly.

We disconnect the call, and the next thirty-five minutes pass with torturous slowness. When the driver finally pulls up to the curb at the hospital, I’m already halfway out the door before the car even comes to a stop.

Inside, I follow the signs for the emergency department, and it isn’t long until I find Charlotte and Olivia waiting in the hall with nervous expressions on their faces.