Chapter 135

Chapter 135
Vera POV

I stared at myself in my vanity mirror, studying the deliberate imperfection I'd created. My fingers had pinched my cheeks until the usual rosy glow faded to a wan pallor. The dark circles under my eyes—carefully preserved by skipping my usual under-eye treatment last night—would tell Irene exactly what I needed her to believe: that I'd been up all night, sick with worry over her.

I reached for my concealer, then stopped. With a satisfied nod, I set the makeup aside.

The silk pajama set I'd slept in landed in a careless heap on my bed. In its place, I pulled on a plain cashmere sweater and dark jeans. Nothing with a visible label, nothing that screamed money. Just simple, understated. The kind of outfit that said I threw on whatever was closest because all I could think about was getting to Mom.

Perfect.

I gathered the leather-bound photo album I'd curated last night, running my fingers over the embossed cover. Every picture inside had been chosen with surgical precision—family moments from before Anna's return, back when I was the only Parker daughter who mattered. Back when the world made sense.

My phone buzzed with a reminder I'd set: Florist - 9 AM.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in Bloom & Co., the boutique flower shop on Madison Avenue where Irene had an account. The air was thick with the scent of roses and lilies, almost cloying in its sweetness.

"Miss Parker," the owner, Claudette, greeted me with practiced warmth. "How lovely to see you."

"I need something for my mother," I said, my voice already carrying that slight tremor I'd been practicing. "White lilies. The best you have."

Claudette's expression shifted to sympathetic concern—clearly she'd heard about Irene's condition through the Manhattan gossip circuit. "Of course. I have some absolutely stunning Casa Blanca lilies that just came in this morning."

While she assembled the arrangement, my gaze drifted to a display of pink carnations. They'd look gorgeous in my bedroom at the mansion. Fresh flowers always made me feel more... grounded.

"Claudette," I called out, "I'd also like a bouquet of those pink carnations. Have them delivered to Parker Mansion this afternoon."

"For your mother's room when she returns home?" Claudette asked.

I smiled. "For my room, actually. Mom has her lilies."

If Claudette thought it odd that I was ordering flowers for myself while my mother lay dying in the hospital, her professional mask didn't slip. "Wonderful choice. These will be delivered by three."

As I signed the charge slip—everything going on Irene's account, naturally—I felt a flutter of anticipation. The lilies would be my offering. The carnations would be my reward. A little preview of what was coming: everything I deserved, everything I'd worked for, finally falling into place.

The drive to the hospital was quick, and I made sure to decline others' offer to carry my things. The image of me struggling slightly with the enormous lily arrangement, the photo album, and my small Chanel purse would only enhance my sacrificial appearance.

Irene's private room was dimly lit, machines beeping their steady rhythm beside her bed. She looked impossibly small against the white hospital sheets, her skin nearly translucent. For a split second, something flickered through me—not quite guilt, more like... inconvenience. The reminder that this fragile woman held the key to everything I needed.

I shook it off. Sentimentality was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"Mom?" I called softly, my voice perfectly calibrated to sound strained with emotion.

Her eyes fluttered open, focusing slowly. When recognition dawned, a weak smile formed on her lips. "Vera, sweetheart."

I rushed to her bedside, carefully arranging the lilies in the crystal vase on her table—making sure she could see how much effort this took, how I was prioritizing her comfort over my own. "How are you feeling today?"

"About the same." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her eyes tracked my movements with surprising sharpness. "You look exhausted, dear."

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted, letting tears well up on cue. "I kept having the strangest dream about you."

"A dream?" Irene's interest sparked—she'd always been sentimental about dreams, signs, connections.

I settled into the chair beside her bed, opening the photo album on my lap but not showing it yet. "I dreamed about that day at Central Park. Remember? I was six, and I lost my favorite doll—the one with the pink ribbon you'd bought me at Bergdorf's?"

Irene's expression softened with recognition. "You were inconsolable."

"In the dream, I was little again, crying because I'd lost it." I let my voice catch, making it sound like the memory—the dream—still affected me. "And you found me by the fountain. You knelt down and held me so tight, and you said..." I paused, as if the words were too precious to speak aloud.

"I said I'll give you everything in the world," Irene whispered, her eyes glistening. "That I'd never let you be sad."

"And you promised you'd never leave me, Mom." I reached for her hand, feeling how fragile it was, how easy it would be to break. But instead, I held it gently, like something precious. "You said that no matter what, we'd always be together."

A tear slipped down Irene's cheek. "I meant it, sweetheart. I still do."

Got you.

The thought sang through me like champagne bubbles, but I kept my expression tender, vulnerable. This was almost too easy—Irene's sentimentality, her need to be needed, her desperate desire to believe she was the center of someone's world. It was like playing a violin I'd been practicing on for years.

"I've been thinking about that promise a lot lately," I said quietly. "About what happens after... after you get better."

"What do you mean?"

I opened the photo album, turning to a picture of us at the Hamptons. "My engagement to Matthew... the Quinn family keeps talking about the merger, about business. And I realized—I don't have anything that's truly mine. If I had some shares in Parker Investment Group, something substantial to bring to the marriage, I'd have real value. Real security." I glanced up at her, letting vulnerability show. "Otherwise, I'm just... the adopted daughter being married off."

Irene's grip on my hand tightened. "Richard never mentioned—"

"He's overwhelmed, Mom. Between your health and everything with Anna..." I let the implication hover between us, watching her face darken.

"What about Anna?" The sharpness in her tone told me I'd struck gold.

I hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. "Dad and I tried talking to her again several days ago. About the bone marrow donation."

"And?"

"She laughed." I let my voice crack perfectly. "She actually laughed when Dad explained how critical the timing was. Then she said she'd 'consider it' if he transferred control of the company to her."

The progression of Irene's expression was beautiful—shock melting into hurt, hardening into anger. I'd seen this pattern before, knew exactly how to guide it.

"She's scared, probably," I added quickly, as if trying to be fair. "The procedure is serious, and she's always been so focused on herself—"

"That girl," Irene interrupted, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak, "has everything. My blood, my name. And she'd let me die over business?"

"You know I'd do it in a heartbeat if I could," I whispered. "If my bone marrow was a match, I wouldn't hesitate for a second."

"I know you would, sweetheart." Irene's voice broke. "You've always been my real daughter. The one who stayed."

Victory hummed through my veins, sweet and intoxicating. This was it—the moment I'd been building toward. Not just survival in this family, but triumph. Anna would be shut out, I'd have my shares, and the Parker legacy would be mine.

"I'll speak to Richard," Irene promised, her jaw set with determination. "You'll have your shares, darling. I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you, Mom," I whispered, letting a single perfect tear slide down my cheek. "You've always protected me."

As Irene drifted back to sleep, exhausted by emotion, I carefully extracted my hand and stood. Looking down at her frail form, I felt none of the guilt that might trouble someone else. Only satisfaction. Only certainty.

I knew Irene's time was running out, which meant my time was running in.

And Anna? She'd finally learn what it meant to be the outsider. To have nothing.

Just like she deserved.