---
As Fiona stood at the edge of the sidewalk, unsure of where to go, a battered taxi rolled up and came to a screeching halt. The driver leaned out.
"You need a ride or just sightseeing misery?" he asked gruffly.
Fiona hesitated for a second. "Yeah. I need a ride."
She slid into the backseat, keeping her face low as if the tinted windows could somehow shield her from the world's judgment. "Just drive. Anywhere but here."
The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb.
She stared out of the window, watching the town she had grown up in blur past her. Every street corner held a memory. Some innocent. Some bitter. All heavy.
After a few minutes of silence, the driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
"You look like someone who needs a second chance."
Fiona blinked. "Excuse me?"
He shrugged. "I've driven all kinds of people. Happy. Sad. Wasted. Wrecked. You? You look like you hit bottom. But you ain't buried yet."
Fiona let out a dry laugh. "That's one way to put it."
The driver kept his eyes on the road. "So what now?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I ruined everything. I hurt someone I cared about. And now… I don't even know who I am anymore."
The cabbie didn't respond. Instead, he turned the car down a quieter road, toward the outskirts of town.
"Where are we going?" Fiona asked, suddenly wary.
He threw her a calm look. "To someone who might help you figure that out."
Before she could protest, the car slowed in front of a small, rustic café nestled between overgrown hedges and an old bookstore. It looked untouched by the chaos of the internet or the glare of headlines.
"This place…?" she asked.
He nodded. "Old friend of mine owns it. Knows how to listen. Helped more lost souls than I can count. Go in. Or don't. That's your choice."
Fiona hesitated, hand on the door handle. Her pride screamed to keep going, but something deeper… something quieter… told her to get out.
She opened the door.
The café smelled like fresh coffee and warm bread. A soft bell rang as she stepped inside. Behind the counter stood a woman in her fifties, with silver hair braided down her back and eyes that saw too much but judged too little.
She looked up at Fiona and smiled gently. "You look like you need something strong… and not just coffee."
Fiona exhaled. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she felt something other than shame.
Maybe it wasn't too late to start again.
Fiona's thoughts darkened as she nursed her coffee. In the quiet sanctuary of the café, memories came unbidden—a past more bitter than any headline could ever capture.
Her father wasn't the broken man the world pitied; he was wicked. He had schemed and stolen everything that rightfully belonged to Lucien. It wasn't just about wealth or possessions—it was about legacy, pride, and the heart of a family now deeply scarred by his treachery. Lucien's late father had built something enduring, something powerful, only for her father to dismantle it piece by piece.
Now, Lucien, fiercely determined and with the steadfast support of her mighty husband Ace, had clawed back what was lost. Ace, resolute and unyielding, had helped restore not just the material inheritance but the dignity of Lucien's bloodline. Every asset reclaimed served as a rebuke to everything her father had done. It was an open declaration that justice, however hard-won, had its way—even when it meant leaving Fiona with nothing.
Fiona sat there, absorbing the full weight of this reality. As much as she felt the sting of public disgrace, the knowledge of her father's treachery cut far deeper. She had been tethered to him, yet in the final reckoning, not even that connection remained. Instead of a father to lean on, she was left with the hollow remains of a past built on betrayal and greed.
The juxtaposition was unbearable: while Lucien's life was being rebuilt with care and strength, anchored by Ace's support and the reclaimed legacy of her late father, Fiona's world had collapsed completely. She was left isolated—an outcast not only by the public's judgment but also by the irrevocable loss of her paternal connection.
In that moment, the bitter truth crystallized: Fiona had nothing to hold onto. As she stared into the depths of her coffee, she wondered if she could ever extricate herself from the web of family treachery and personal ruin. Without the comforting anchor of a father, without the redemption she had once hoped might come from love or forgiveness, she faced an uncertain future—all that remained was the raw, unvarnished reality of loss and betrayal.