**[ST. MARY'S HOSPITAL - PRIVATE ROOM 408 - 8:00 AM]**
The hospital room was the kind only serious money could buy. There was no harsh antiseptic smell, the walls weren't that depressing hospital green. Instead, it looked almost like a luxury hotel room—walls in soft beige tones, an enormous window overlooking the hospital gardens, light wood furniture, even paintings on the walls.
But none of that mattered when you looked at the bed.
Eloise Whitmore lay there, motionless. Her skin was pale, almost translucent in the morning light. Blonde hair spread across the white pillow. Eyes closed. Connected to machines monitoring every heartbeat, every breath.
She looked so fragile. So small.
Margaret Whitmore sat beside the bed, holding her daughter's hand as she had done every morning for the past two weeks. Her eyes were red from sleepless nights, her face showing lines of worry that hadn't been there a month ago.
Richard stood near the window, posture rigid, hands behind his back. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the horizon as if he could force some answer to appear through sheer force of will.
Adrian was on the other side of the bed, arms crossed, looking at his sister with a mixture of anger and despair he couldn't hide.
And Elias Chen was there, standing at the foot of the bed, examining Eloise with intense, focused eyes.
"How long is this going to take?" Adrian asked, his voice tense.
"As long as necessary," Elias replied without looking at him. "Silence, please. I need to concentrate."
Adrian opened his mouth to retort, but Richard raised a hand.
"Let him work."
Elias moved closer, his hands hovering over Eloise. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then—
His hands began to glow softly.
Margaret gasped, instinctively pulling back.
A warm, golden light emanated from Elias's palms, enveloping his hands in an ethereal glow. It wasn't bright or blinding—it was soft, like sunlight filtered through leaves.
"What—" Adrian began.
"Internal force," Elias said calmly, his hands moving in precise patterns over Eloise's body without touching her. "Vital energy. Qi. Different cultures have different names, but the principle is the same. The human body has meridians—energy pathways—that can become blocked or damaged."
He moved his hands to Eloise's forehead, then to her chest, then to her abdomen, each movement deliberate and measured.
"When Eloise fell," Elias continued, his voice taking on an almost professorial tone, "the trauma wasn't just physical. The shock interrupted the flow of her vital energy. That's why the doctors can't find anything wrong—their instruments only measure the physical. But the true injury is energetic."
Richard turned, watching with mixed skepticism and fascination. "And you can… fix that?"
"I'm fixing it now," Elias said.
His hands pressed specific points on Eloise's forehead, at her temples, at the base of her skull. Each touch was accompanied by a pulse of that golden light.
"Her meridians are blocked at three main points," Elias explained. "The Baihui point at the top of the head—connected to consciousness. The Tanzhong point at the chest—connected to the heart and emotions. And the Qihai point at the lower abdomen—the center of vital energy."
He moved his hands methodically, pressing, releasing, channeling energy.
"When I clear these blockages and reestablish proper flow… her body will remember how to function. Consciousness will return."
Margaret watched, amazed. "Is this… real? Does this actually work?"
"It's worked for thousands of years," Elias said simply. "Modern medicine just forgot."
Twenty minutes passed in tense silence. Elias worked with relentless focus, his hands never wavering, that golden light never dimming.
Sweat began to form on his forehead. His breathing grew slightly heavier.
"Almost done," he murmured. "The last blockage is the deepest. Just one more push…"
He placed both hands over Eloise's chest, right above her heart, and *pushed*.
The golden light flared intensely for a moment, filling the entire room with a warm glow.
And then—
Eloise's eyes opened.
"*ELOISE*!"
Margaret screamed, throwing herself forward, grabbing her daughter's hand.
Eloise blinked slowly, her clear green eyes adjusting to the light. She looked around, confused, disoriented, trying to understand where she was.
"Mom?" Her voice was hoarse, weak. "What… where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, sweetheart," Margaret said, tears already streaming down her face. "You fell. You've been… you were asleep for almost a month."
"A month?" Eloise tried to sit up, but her body was too weak. "I… don't understand."
Adrian was at her side in a second, supporting her. "Don't move too quickly. You need time to recover your strength."
Richard approached, his composure breaking as he looked at his daughter—his daughter *awake*, *alive*, *looking back at him*.
"Eloise," he said, and his voice was thick with emotion. "You're okay. Thank God, you're okay."
Eloise looked between all of them, still processing. Her gaze landed on Elias, who stood at the foot of the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"You," she said softly. "You're that boy. From the park. You helped me get home."
Elias smiled—that confident smile that seemed to say *of course it was me*. "Elias Chen. It's good to see you awake, Eloise."
"You… healed me?" She asked, her voice full of admiration.
"Just unlocked what your body already knew how to do," Elias said modestly. But there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
Margaret turned to him, tears still flowing. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you—"
"No need to thank me," Elias said. "Just keeping my promise."
Richard extended his hand, shaking Elias's firmly. "You've given us our daughter back. The Whitmore family is eternally in your debt."
"I'll remember that," Elias said, still smiling.
-----
**[THIRTY MINUTES LATER]**
The doctors had come and gone, running tests, checking vitals, absolutely baffled by Eloise's miraculous recovery. They had no explanations. They could only shake their heads and mutter about "spontaneous remissions" and "remarkable resilience."
Elias had left fifteen minutes ago, promising to return to visit after Eloise rested a bit.
Now it was just family.
Eloise sat propped up on pillows, taking small sips of water. Her color was gradually returning. She still looked weak, but her eyes were alert, focused.
"So," she said slowly, "you said I was asleep for a month, right?"
"Yes," Margaret said, stroking her daughter's hair. "You fell down the stairs. We were… so worried."
Eloise frowned, trying to remember. "I remember falling. I remember slipping and then… nothing. Just black."
"The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong," Richard said. "But that young man… Elias… he did what they couldn't."
"He's amazing," Eloise said softly, a slight blush touching her pale cheeks. "When I met him in the park, he was so kind. He helped me when I was lost, brought me home, and now… this."
Adrian exchanged a look with his father. They both noticed that blush, that soft tone in her voice.
*Great*, Adrian thought bitterly.
Eloise looked around the room again, frowning. "Where is everyone? Where are the others?"
"What others, dear?" Margaret asked.
"Well…" Eloise hesitated. "The staff? The doctors were here before. And—" she paused, her eyes sweeping the room once more. "Where's Cass?"
Silence.
The kind of silence that seemed to suck all the air from the room.
Richard's brow furrowed deeply. Margaret's expression closed off. And Adrian—
Adrian's fists clenched.
"The traitor," Adrian said, his voice hard as steel, "has already been dealt with."
Eloise blinked, confusion crossing her face. "Traitor? What do you mean?"
"Dear," Margaret said gently, "you don't need to worry about Cassandra now. You need to focus on getting better."
"Why would I worry?" Eloise asked, genuinely lost. "Are you being overprotective again? Look, I know we had some fights, but grounding Cass for just a few sisterly arguments… that's normal, isn't it? Sisters fight."
Adrian looked at his father, then back at Eloise.
"Eloise," he said slowly, moving closer and taking her hand. "You're very kind. You always have been. But… we couldn't let what she did slide."
"What did she do?" Eloise repeated, her confusion deepening. "Are you talking about the fights? It was just—"
"No," Richard interrupted, his voice heavy. He approached, standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes meeting his daughter's. "Eloise, Cassandra was expelled from the family."
Eloise's face went pale. "What? *Expelled*? Why? What—"
"For trying to *kill you*," Adrian said bluntly. "For pushing you down the stairs."
Absolute silence.
Eloise stared at him, her face a mask of shock and confusion.
"Wh… what?" She whispered.
"You fell down the stairs," Richard said calmly. "Cassandra was there. We confronted her. It was clear that—"
"*Who* pushed me down the stairs?" Eloise interrupted, her voice growing louder, sharper. "I… I literally *fell* by myself!"
All three Whitmores froze.
"Eloise," Margaret said softly, "you hit your head. Your memories might be—"
"My memories are *perfectly clear*," Eloise said, her voice trembling. Tears began to form in her eyes. "I was at the top of the stairs. My foot slipped. I was falling, and Cass—"
Her voice broke.
"Cass *tried to catch me*!"
Absolute silence filled the room.
No one moved. No one breathed.
"She was behind me," Eloise continued, tears now flowing freely down her face. "I slipped, and she reached out to grab me. She tried to pull me back, but I was already falling too fast and—"
"Eloise," Adrian said, his voice careful, "are you sure? Do you remember—"
"*YES*, I'm sure!" Eloise shouted, then immediately winced, her hand flying to her head. The sudden outburst had made her head throb.
Margaret rushed to support her. "Dear, please, calm down—"
"What are you telling me?" Eloise whispered, looking between the three of them. "What are you telling me? That you… that you thought Cass tried to kill me? That you *expelled* her for it?"
Richard went very, very quiet. His face had turned gray.
"The staff said they saw you fighting," he said slowly. "Saw Cassandra at the top of the stairs with you. And when we confronted her—"
"Of course she denied it," Adrian finished. "But the evidence was clear, Eloise. She never liked you."
Eloise screamed. "You never believe her! You always… always assume the worst!"
She was crying openly now, her whole body trembling.
"She tried to *save me*, and you *expelled* her? You *disowned* her? For something she didn't do?!"
Margaret had gone white as a sheet. Her hand covered her mouth, eyes wide with horror.
Adrian stood frozen, color draining from his face as realization began to sink in.
And Richard—
Richard seemed to age ten years in ten seconds.
"Oh God," Margaret whispered. "Oh my God, what have we done?"
"She was just in the wrong place," Eloise sobbed. "She tried to help me. And you… you…"
She couldn't finish. Just buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.
Adrian stepped back, staggering as if he'd taken a physical blow.
*We expelled her.*
*We disowned her.*
*We called her a murderer.*
*And she did nothing wrong.*
"I need to—" Adrian began, his voice hoarse. "I need to go—"
"No," Richard said sharply. "You stay here with your sister."
He turned toward the door, his face a mask of rigid control that barely concealed the growing panic underneath.
"Richard?" Margaret called.
He stopped at the door, not turning around.
"I'm going to fix this," he said quietly.
But his voice failed.
Because deep down, he knew.
They hadn't just disowned Cassandra.
They had *destroyed* her.
They had accused her of the unthinkable, taken everything from her, expelled her from her own family—
—for a crime she never committed.
Richard left the room without another word.
Margaret stood there, tears silently streaming down her face, one hand covering her mouth.
Adrian sank into a chair, his face buried in his hands.
And Eloise continued crying, her heart broken not just by her own pain, but by the monstrous injustice of what her family had done.
-----
**[HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - 9:15 AM]**
Richard Whitmore leaned against the cold corridor wall, his legs suddenly too weak to properly support him.
He raised his hand, staring at it as if he didn't recognize it.
*This hand signed the disownment papers.*
*This hand expelled her from her own home.*
*This hand destroyed an innocent girl.*
"What have I done?" He whispered to the empty corridor. "What have I *done*?"
But the corridor had no answers.
Only the faint echo of hospital monitors and the distant sound of footsteps.
Richard Whitmore—one of the most powerful men in the city, a man who built empires and commanded respect—
—was completely, utterly lost.
Because for the first time in his life, he had made a mistake that money couldn't fix.
A mistake that power couldn't undo.
He had destroyed his own daughter.
And he had no idea how to get her back.
-----