Chapter 54 Irony
ANNA'S POV
“You’re right, so let’s get on to why you two are actually here,” I said calmly as I finally took my seat in front of them.
The chair felt firm beneath me, grounding me, For a brief second, a thought crossed my mind — one I hadn’t invited, yet it slipped in effortlessly.
Come to think of it, seeing them again after all these years stirred something deeper than I expected. These two women, sitting right in front of me, had played a role in the worst loss of my life. Maybe not directly, maybe not with their own hands, but their cruelty, their neglect, their constant reminder that I was unwanted had pushed me to the edge back then. And on that night… everything spiraled.
They might not have been the main villains in my story, but they weren’t innocent either.
Still, they weren’t the ones occupying the center of my revenge. That role was already filled — permanently reserved for someone else.
Even so, justice had many layers. And even the smallest hand in my pain deserved its own consequence.
Ever since I reunited with my real family, it felt like God Himself had been guiding my steps. Every enemy I thought I had lost to time somehow found their way back into my path. One after another, delivered straight to me, as if placed carefully on a chessboard.
And now, here they were.
Bella and her mother.
Sitting quietly in my office, waiting for help they never thought they’d need from someone like me.
Bella was sick — hepatitis C. I still didn’t understand how she had contracted it, nor did I care enough to ask. The how didn’t matter. What mattered was the now. She was here because she needed something only I could provide.
The irony was almost poetic.
Years ago, I needed them. I needed support, protection, warmth — anything that resembled family. I had lived under their roof, convinced they were the last people I could rely on. And when I reached out, when I needed them the most, they turned their backs on me.
Cold. Heartless. Unmoved.
Now the roles had reversed.
In this moment, I had all the power. I could deny them with a single word. I could stand up, walk away, and leave Bella to face the consequences of a disease that would slowly eat away at her body. If I did that, she would feel the same helplessness I felt back then. Maybe even worse.
The pain. The fear. The desperation.
And for a split second, the thought was tempting.
But then another question followed immediately after.
If I do this… would I be satisfied?
Or would I become exactly what they once were to me?
Hepatitis C wasn’t a small illness. Left untreated, it could destroy the liver and lead to death within months. From the way Bella looked, the exhaustion barely hidden behind her impatience — it was clear she didn’t have much time left.
And no matter how cruel someone had been to me, no matter how deep the scars they left behind, I had never been capable of wishing death on anyone. Not even on James. Not on Melissa. Not on anyone.
That wasn’t revenge.
That was monstrosity.
I believed in consequences, not blood on my hands.
Even with all the power and influence I had gained, even with the resources at my disposal, I had never once thought about killing them or destroying their lives in such a final way. There were other methods — cleaner ones. Smarter ones. Ways that hurt without crossing a line I refused to step over.
And then there was Mr. Heyes.
Even though he was gone, his presence still lingered in my heart. He had been the only one in that house who treated me like a real daughter. He had shown me kindness when I had nothing to offer in return. Letting his biological daughter die, no matter how much resentment I carried would have been a betrayal of that kindness.
I wasn’t going to repay the only good memory from that house with cruelty.
So I pushed every bitter memory aside.
Not because they deserved mercy.
But because I did.
And because the purpose of Quinn’s Med Care had never been revenge, it had always been healing. Helping the less privileged. Saving lives. Even if those lives once belonged to people who had hurt me.
I nodded slowly to myself, locking every emotion away behind the professional mask I had perfected over the years.
“Let’s proceed,” I said evenly
I turned toward my desk, opening a drawer and pulling out the prepared documents. Beside them sat the medication tray, already sterilized and organized. Every vial, every syringe, every label had been placed with intention.
My hands were steady as I worked. No hesitation. No trembling. Just precision.
Bella shifted on her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “This is taking longer than expected,” she muttered under her breath.
I didn’t respond. I had learned long ago that silence often spoke louder than words.
I arranged the medication carefully on the desk, ensuring everything was exactly as it should be.
“You’ll be receiving the first dose today,” I said calmly. “After that, you’ll be monitored closely. Follow-up sessions will be scheduled accordingly to track your progress.”
Bella leaned forward slightly. “Does it work immediately?” she asked, her tone sharp, demanding reassurance.
“It works progressively,” I replied without looking at her. “Your body will respond in stages. Results vary depending on the patient, but improvements will be noticeable.”
Her mother nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the medication. “As long as it works,” she said.
I finally glanced at Bella.
She was staring at the vial like it was her last lifeline. Like everything she had lost — her beauty, her confidence, her control could be handed back to her in a single dose.
If only she knew.
They had walked into this building desperate. Broken. Hope clinging to them by a thread.
And they had no idea whose hands were holding their fate.
No idea that the woman standing before them had once begged for their kindness and been denied.
No idea that the cure they were about to receive came from the same mind they had dismissed as worthless years ago.
I prepared the medication with calm efficiency, my movements smooth and professional, my face giving nothing away. There would be no cracks in my composure. No slip of emotion. No satisfaction on display.
This wasn’t revenge.
This was control.
And as I stood there, holding the syringe, I knew one thing for certain—
They would walk out of this office healed.
But the truth?
The truth would find them eventually.