The Ex-Wife's Burning Elegance

Simone arrived at the hospital.

All along the corridors, patients and nurses alike were whispering about the same thing.

It didn't take Simone long to ask a nurse and find out which room Aurora was in.

She was a mess-her clothes rumpled, her hair tangled, her face pale with exhaustion. Anyone who glanced her way could tell she'd been through something harrowing.

But no one noticed her.

Every doctor and nurse in the building was caught up in the commotion around Aurora. The entire staff seemed to orbit that one room, each person's attention fixed on her.

Even patients in critical condition had to wait their turn-Aurora came first, no questions asked.

In the past, Simone had never questioned this kind of privilege. Girls like them, born under lucky stars, deserved the best. It was only natural that they'd get priority over the ordinary crowd.

But now...

Something cold and bitter coiled in Simone's chest: resentment.

Why should she have to wait in line behind Aurora? Why wasn't she the one everyone rushed to help?

She reached the door to the hospital room and peered through the glass. Inside, the place was crowded-doctors, the Williams father and son, Queenie, and her own brother, Leonard.

Leonard's face, always so stoic and unreadable, was etched with worry. He couldn't hide it, not this time.

missing for a day and a night,

know what to

remembered when it was just the two of them, looking out for each other. She'd protected him once, and he'd

always believed she was the most

what she'd told herself, even when Leonard had hurt her interests to help Aurora. She'd

down the hallway came the sound of

Simone froze.

recognized one of the voices—it was

see her like

instinct, Simone ducked into an empty patient

wall as the footsteps drew

heard Stella's voice outside:

this mostly wanted to torment

for Queenie,

all

s

IMS

bit down hard on her lower

behind, let her be humiliated by

a

almost died for Leonard, and he

a wonderful brother. What a

slipped down Simone's cheeks, slow and silent. Yet somehow,