Elijah Schwarzenger Rises To Power

0001

Elijah, a young man in his mid-twenties, burst through the hospital’s glass doors, his chest rising and falling with desperate gasps. Sweat matted his jet-black hair to his forehead as his sharp, dusty eyes scanned the pristine reception area with urgency. He looked as though he had sprinted a mile barefoot on gravel roads just to get there.

Despite his strikingly chiselled jawline, sculpted physique, and sun-kissed skin that hinted at hours of labor under the unforgiving sun, it was his clothes that caught the attention of the reception nurse and the waiting patients.

An oversized, faded hoodie clung to his muscular frame, torn at the elbows. His jeans were threadbare at the knees, stained and fraying, held up by a rope he used as a makeshift belt. “Please!” he pleaded as he rushed up to the counter. “I need to see someone. Right now. It’s urgent!”

The nurse behind the reception desk looked up from her monitor, her perfectly drawn eyebrows arching in disapproval. In her late thirties, with neat makeup, a crisp uniform, and long, blood-red nails, her eyes slowly traveled down Elijah's impoverished appearance, as if she were analyzing dirt on a freshly cleaned floor.

“You’ll have to wait like everyone else,” she replied coolly, waving toward the seated patients. “We have protocols, sir.”

“I understand, but... please, just this once,” Elijah pressed, palms flat on the counter. “My fiancée... she’s here. She brought her sick mother in yesterday. I just need to see her. Her name is Ruthila... Ruthila Kerr.”

At the mention of the name, a flicker of recognition crossed the nurse’s face—a look that came from seeing a celebrity’s image on billboards or trending videos. However, instead of concern, her expression twisted into disdain.

“You expect me to believe that?” she said, laughing mockingly. “Ruthila Kerr? The actress and model? The Ruthila who’s literally the face of Futuriux? Your fiancée?”

Elijah nodded quickly, desperation clear in his eyes.

“Why are Futuriux beggars like this?” the nurse scoffed, narrowing her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. “So you heard the rumors she was here and decided to show up, hoping to beg for scraps, huh?” She gave him a pitying look. “You beggars get creative every day. Do you even own a phone, or do you just sniff out opportunities through the air?”

Elijah's eyes turned red—not from anger but from the sting of humiliation—as the entire waiting room erupted in loud, mocking laughter. The sound echoed off the pale hospital walls, sharp and unforgiving.

“Hahaha! What a clown!” one patient wheezed between chuckles, only to be overtaken by a violent coughing fit that reminded everyone why they were there in the first place.

“I’m not lying,” he said quietly, jaw clenched.

“No, you're not lying,” she mocked. “You're delusional. Look at you... rags and dust. And you want me to believe a woman like Ruthila Kerr would have anything to do with… this?” She gestured to his clothes with disgust. “Stop wasting my time and just leave before I call security.”

Elijah’s fists trembled against the counter as he looked the nurse straight in the eye and said calmly, “She’s here. I don’t care if you believe me or not; I’m not leaving until I see her.”

“I’m not leaving until I see her!” the nurse mimicked, mocking Elijah. “If you're not going to wait your turn, then you're free to demonstrate your strength and seek her out against my approval.”

“Thanks a lot. As you please, ma'am,” Elijah replied, slightly nodding before swiftly bolting away from the reception toward the staircase, hearing the echo of the reception nurse calling for security in the background.

After peeking through several wards, he finally reached the ICU and stopped in his tracks. Breathless, he paused at the entrance, released a long sigh, and smiled, picturing how happy Ruthila would be when she saw that he had half of her mother's treatment money.

“Ow, thank you very much! Eli. You've saved my mother,” he imagined her exclaiming, hope igniting within him at the thought of finally being a hero in her life.

Elijah stepped through the ICU doors, still catching his breath, his heart pounding with anticipation. He scanned the row of beds until his eyes locked on a familiar figure seated beside one of them: his fiancee, Ruthila Kerr.

Even in a plain hospital gown thrown over her designer top, Ruthila looked like she’d just stepped off a billboard. Her glossy brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. Elijah's eyes squinted as he spotted someone standing close to her.

Standing beside her, with one hand casually resting on her shoulder, was a tall man in a perfectly tailored grey suit that exuded wealth. His face was sharp, and he wore a G-Shock wristwatch that looked unmistakably expensive. He leaned in to kiss Ruthila's forehead, and she laughed softly.

Elijah’s smile faltered and he took a hesitant step forward. “Ruthila…” he called.

Jerking around, Ruthila's eyes widened for a split second as she recognized the voice, and she slowly turned. Then, like a switch flipped, her expression changed.

“Elijah?” she said, her voice slowly trembling as she gripped the man’s suit, pretending to be scared.

Elijah nodded and stepped closer, reaching into his hoodie pocket. “I brought it. Half the money. I…I’ve been working non-stop to get it. I knew you’d be here…”

The man in the suit interrupted him with a scoff and an irritated look. “Who’s this clown!?”

Ruthila stood up. “He’s…the one. He’s…the guy I told you about!” she said quickly, her eyes desperately darting toward the nurses and other patients watching, tightening her grip on the man’s clothes.

Elijah blinked, confused. “What?”

“I don’t know how you found me, Elijah,” Ruthila continued, her voice steadying but cold, “but this is a private space. You can’t hurt me here, not with the man of my dreams here to protect me from you.”

Elijah’s mouth opened, and words caught in his throat. “But I’m the one who brought you and your mother here. Why would I hurt you? You called me crying…”

“Security!” she called out suddenly, loud enough for the hallway to hear. Her voice trembled slightly now—not from fear, but from disgust.

“Ruthila… don’t do this. Not in front of everyone,” Elijah pleaded, his voice cracking.

Benjamin Warren, the wealthy-looking man beside her chuckled. “Let me guess—you’re the aggressive ex who beats her daily, to the point that her mother was depressed and hospitalized! Is this the guy responsible for all that trauma?”

“Yes! He’s the one, Mr. Benjamin. He’s the one!” Ruthila interrupted, pointing her fingers at him as tears began to stream down her face.

Elijah didn’t understand why Ruthila was lying about him and shedding tears in front of everyone. He was about to speak when whispers started to swirl behind him. He quickly turned around to see a few nurses blocking the entrance, with two muscular security guards approaching.

Ignoring them, he turned back to Ruthila. He felt shattered by her words and struggled to speak. “You said you loved me,” he muttered, still clutching the envelope of money. “You told me…”

“Enough!” Ruthila snapped, her voice sharp. “Just go back to wherever you came from. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Her words struck him hard, making him feel as if a heavy weight were sitting on his shoulders. Before he could say anything else, the security guards grabbed him by the arms, pulling him backwards.

Elijah felt dumbfounded as he was restrained; his body was so weak as a result of several menial jobs he's done that he couldn’t fight back or scream for help. He simply stared at Ruthila, his eyes bloodshot and his heart shattered, as the envelope slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor.

“I believed in you…, in our love.” he whispered weakly.

“What should we do with him, Mr. Warren?” one of the security guards asked, turning to the man.

Benjamin didn’t answer but looked at Ruthila, who was still pretending to tremble with fear. “Calm down, babe. I’m here for you; no one can hurt you anymore,” he said, caressing her head. “What do you want us to do with your ex, Ruthie? I can have him sentenced to a death penalty if you want.”

“No!!” Ruthila frantically shook her head. “I don’t want to pay evil with evil, Mr. Benjamin. Just let them take him to jail and he shouldn't return anytime soon.”

Elijah's heart sank at her words, and tears rolled down his cheeks. The woman he had hustled all week to help with her mother’s treatment had completely changed and now wanted him in jail.

“Alright, boys,” Benjamin said to the security guards, gesturing toward Elijah with disdain. “You both heard her, right? My love wants him rotting in jail. A year sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. That’s perfectly fine!” one of the guards replied, bowing.

“He can stay longer than that if you wish, Mr. Warren,” the second guard added.

Everyone present in the room, including patients and nurses, voiced their excitement, grateful that the alleged aggressive boyfriend would finally be taken to jail. Ruthila, meanwhile, wore a sly grin, pleased that everyone believed her fabricated story.

“You both will receive an alert of $200 each before you get to the station,” Benjamin said, gesturing for the guards to leave.

Like a discarded piece of trash, Elijah was dragged out of the ward, watching in disbelief as Ruthila immediately turned away and hugged Benjamin, resting her head on his chest.