❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ POWER AND WEALTH ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ he tells her to keep her guard up, to stay sharp, but every time he's around, her defenses crumble. ❜

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝐿𝐴𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺 sirens reverberated through Charlotte's skull, assaulting her senses as she struggled to maintain her balance. She grimaced, the piercing sound mingling with the searing pain that coursed through her body.

"F-Fuck..." The curse escaped her lips in a sharp exhale, the pain intensifying with each breath.

"Save your energy," Tim's voice cut through the chaos, firm and commanding. With his support, Charlotte managed to lower herself to the ground, every movement sending waves of agony rippling through her.

Tim's touch was surprisingly gentle as he began to assess the extent of her injury, his expression betraying nothing but a steely resolve. She gritted her teeth against the pain, a low growl escaping her as she fought to keep from succumbing to the darkness threatening to engulf her.

Sensing her distress, he tightened his grip on her arm, a silent reassurance amidst the turmoil. "Die on me, and I'll forever be known as the guy who killed his rookie on day one. We don't want that, right?" His attempt at humor fell flat in the face of her agony, but Charlotte mustered a weak nod nonetheless.

"Right," she managed to choke out between labored breaths, each word a testament to her determination to survive despite the odds stacked against her.

Tim's gaze flickered upwards, scanning the horizon for the approaching ambulances. Charlotte could practically taste the tension thickening the air, mingling with the coppery scent of her own blood. Her eyelids drooped heavily, succumbing to the overwhelming exhaustion that enveloped her. Time seemed to warp and stretch, moments elongating into eternity as the world blurred into a hazy whirlwind.

Abruptly, she found herself enveloped in the sterile confines of the ambulance, the wail of sirens piercing through the cacophony of noise. The city rushed past in a blur of lights and shadows, the urgency of their journey palpable in every jolt and sway.

Charlotte struggled to focus, her senses dulled by the throbbing ache that pulsed through her body. Voices echoed around her, a distant chorus of concern and urgency, yet their words dissolved into unintelligible murmurs that floated aimlessly through her consciousness.

The world flickered back into focus with a jolt, and Charlotte found herself hurtling through the hospital doors on a gurney, the frantic blur of activity swirling around her. The antiseptic scent of the hospital flooded her senses, mingling with the distant echo of urgent voices.

Faces loomed over her, their features warped and unfamiliar in the harsh fluorescent light. She strained to make out familiar faces amidst the sea of strangers, but recognition eluded her like a fleeting dream.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over her, dragging her back into its murky depths with irresistible force. She surrendered to its embrace, her body succumbing to its relentless pull, every muscle protesting in weary resignation.

Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Charlotte plummeted into the welcoming darkness once more, her consciousness slipping away into oblivion.

Talia's palm connected with the back of Tim's head with a resounding smack, snapping him out of his reverie. The hospital corridor, usually a dull hum of activity, momentarily seemed to still. Tim's eyes widened in surprise, his mouth falling open in shock at the unexpected blow.

"What the hell was that for?!" Tim protested, his hand instinctively moving to rub the sore spot where Talia's smack landed. His glare was sharp, like daggers piercing through the air, aimed directly at her.

"You threatened a rookie! Made her walk back to the station while on patrol? Are you out of your damn mind, Bradford?" Talia's voice carried a mixture of frustration and disappointment, her teeth gritted in irritation.

Angela, standing nearby, shook her head in dismay. The sterile scent of disinfectant hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the hospital cafeteria's coffee. "No wonder your rookie went suicidal. You scared the shit out of her, telling her she wasn't gonna get anywhere with this job," she added, her tone laced with disapproval.

Tim's gaze fell to the ground, his brows furrowed in deep thought. The weight of Talia's words and Angela's observation settled heavily on his shoulders, leaving him lost in contemplation. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh, sterile glow over the hospital corridor, highlighting the lines of worry etched into his face.

A doctor strode past, the click of her shoes echoing against the tiled floor as she disappeared into a patient's room. Tim's hand tightened around the door handle, halting its closure before it sealed off the room from view. The metallic coldness of the handle seeped into his skin, grounding him in the moment.

"Is she awake?" His voice, usually firm, softened with a hint of concern.

The female doctor met his gaze, her expression unreadable beneath the weight of fatigue. "She's awake, talking with the other two officers."

A subtle nod from the doctor prompted Tim to turn his attention back to Angela and Talia, who stood nearby, their faces etched with a mix of tension and apprehension. The faint hum of machines and distant conversations created a backdrop of constant noise that seemed to underscore the gravity of the situation. Angela gestured silently for Tim to enter the room.

"You should apologize to her. What you did was real crappy, Tim," Angela murmured, her voice carrying a note of reproach. The air felt heavy with unspoken words, the sterile scent of the hospital mingling with the palpable tension.

Tim hesitated for a moment, his hand still on the door handle. The polished wood of the door felt solid and unyielding under his grip, much like the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. He took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs with a mix of antiseptic and anxiety, and pushed the door open.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. Charlotte lay on the hospital bed, her face pale and drawn, the lines of pain and exhaustion evident in every feature. Two officers stood by her side, their expressions a blend of concern and quiet conversation.

In the dimly lit hospital room, the soft hum of machinery underscored the steady rhythm of Charlotte's heartbeat, a constant reminder of her fragility. Jackson sat beside her bed, his presence a reassuring anchor in the sea of uncertainty. John gently leaned on the foot of the bed, his concern palpable in the furrow of his brows and the set of his jaw. Their unwavering support was a testament to the camaraderie forged in the crucible of law enforcement.

As the gravity of Charlotte's situation sank in, John shook his head, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I still can't believe you got stabbed on your first day," he murmured, sympathy etched in every line of his face.

Jackson, ever the optimist, interjected with a hint of levity in his tone. "I wish I got stabbed on my first day. Now you've got a badass scar and an awesome story to tell," he quipped, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Their words, though laced with humor, carried the weight of genuine concern and camaraderie, offering a glimmer of solace amidst the uncertainty. The air was thick with the faint scent of antiseptic, a sterile reminder of the precarious balance between life and death.

"I didn't even think about dying," Charlotte confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of her newfound vulnerability. Her fingers traced absentminded patterns on the soft fabric of the hospital gown, a tangible reminder of her fragile state.

John and Jackson exchanged a meaningful glance, their expressions a blend of empathy and admiration for her resilience. The soft light from the overhead fixtures cast long shadows on the walls, creating a cocoon of introspection around them.

"All I thought about was that I wasn't going to be able to continue this program to become a real LAPD officer. That I'd have to retire after my injury and move back home to live off my daddy's money like everyone back home always said I would," Charlotte continued, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of bitterness.

As the words escaped her lips, she felt a sense of relief wash over her, as if the simple act of voicing her fears had lightened the burden she carried. John and Jackson nodded, their silent support a comforting presence in the room.

The silence was broken by the soft creak of the hospital door. Tim's figure appeared in the doorway, his presence an oddly comforting reassurance. He offered a subdued nod as a greeting and stepped into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

"Well, then these two better let you get some rest to heal up," Tim remarked, his voice a soothing balm in the midst of uncertainty. "You've got a long way to go."

John and Jackson exchanged another knowing glance before offering Charlotte a quick, reassuring nod. Their silent support, bolstered by months of shared experiences and unspoken understanding, felt like a protective shield.

As they exited the room, the soft click of the door closing behind them punctuated the quiet atmosphere, leaving Tim and Charlotte in a cocoon of introspection. Tim settled into the chair previously occupied by Jackson, his expression a mix of contrition and uncertainty, a look not often seen on his usually stoic face.

"Listen, I—" Tim began, his voice faltering as he grappled with the weight of his words. He paused, searching for the right way to articulate his thoughts.

Charlotte watched him closely, sensing the sincerity behind his hesitant demeanor. Despite his initial misstep, there was a genuine desire to make amends, to bridge the gap between them. The room felt small and intimate, the dim lighting casting a warm glow that softened the edges of their harsh reality.

"I put you in a difficult position from the start," Tim admits, his tone tinged with slight regret. "And as your T.O, I should've known better. It was highly wrongful of me to do so, and well... I apologise."

His words hang in the air, a tangible symbol of accountability and reconciliation. Charlotte feels a surge of empathy toward him, recognizing the complexity of their roles and the challenges that come with them.

"Tim," she begins, standing tall before Bradford, her gaze steady and unwavering. The hospital room around them is bathed in the soft glow of fluorescent lights, casting shadows against the stark white walls. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, a constant reminder of her recent ordeal.

With a nod of understanding, she offers him a small, reassuring smile, grateful for the opportunity to move forward together. "I like the toughness you try to bring out in me," she continues, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "It's a good method to forge me into the best version of myself."

She meets his gaze head-on, unwavering in her conviction. "But you can't let my past bother you to train me like you would anyone else. I'm here to learn, like any other rookie you've had."

There's a flicker of surprise in Bradford's eyes, a subtle shift in his demeanor as her words sink in. His eyebrows shoot up slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge she's just thrown down.

"I'm gonna succeed," Charlotte continues, her tone firm and resolute. "And you're going to get me to that success. One way or another."

Bradford's response is gruff, his voice laced with skepticism. "You're awfully cocky."

She can't help but chuckle at his remark, a flash of confidence coursing through her. "I'm confident."

Her words hang in the air, a mixture of confidence and determination lacing her tone. She watches as Tim rises from his chair, the old wooden frame emitting a soft creak in protest.

His movements are deliberate, purposeful, as he crosses the room toward the door. There's a subtle tension in his shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges that lie ahead.

"Rest up, boot." he says, his voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. "I'll be harsher than ever when you bounce back."

His words are blunt, but beneath the gruff exterior, Charlotte senses a glimmer of concern. Tim may be tough, but he's also invested in her success, pushing her to her limits in pursuit of excellence. As he reaches the door, his hand lingers on the handle for a moment, a silent farewell before he disappears into the hallway beyond.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Tim disappears through the doorway, leaving Charlotte alone with her thoughts. The room seems to exhale in his absence, the weight of his presence lingering like an echo in the air.

As she settles back against the pillows, the sterile environment of the hospital room becomes a backdrop for her introspection. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the distant hum of activity in the corridor provide a steady soundtrack to her thoughts.

Charlotte's mind races with the events of the day, the pain of her injury a constant reminder of the fragility of her aspirations. She recalls the tension in Tim's voice, the sincerity in his apology, and the promise of a tougher regimen ahead. There's a blend of apprehension and excitement as she considers the path before her.

The road to recovery looms large, fraught with physical and mental challenges. She knows she will need to summon every ounce of strength to face them head-on. The image of her father's disapproving gaze and the weight of her own expectations press heavily on her, but she steels herself with the determination to prove her worth.

With a deep breath, Charlotte closes her eyes, allowing the fatigue of the day to wash over her. The soft hum of the hospital's machinery fades into the background as she drifts into a restless sleep, her dreams filled with visions of the battles yet to be fought and the victories yet to be won.

In the stillness of the night, the hospital room stands as a silent witness to her resolve. As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds, it casts a soft glow on her determined face, a symbol of the dawn of a new chapter in her journey.

Charlotte knows that the trials ahead will test her in ways she has never been tested before, but she is ready to face them, bolstered by the support of her comrades and the unwavering belief in her own strength.

The vibration of Charlotte's phone startled her awake, causing her to sit up abruptly. She winced, the sharp pain from her wound reminding her of its presence. Groggily, she glanced at the screen and saw a few missed messages from Jackson and John, mostly filled with kind words and wishes for a speedy recovery. Their concern warmed her heart, offering a brief respite from the pain.

A soft knock on the door pulled her attention away from her phone. Two tall men in dark suits entered the room, their presence commanding and slightly intimidating. One of them carried a large bouquet of flowers, their vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the sterile white walls of the hospital room.

The man with the flowers approached her bed silently, placing the bouquet on the bedside table with meticulous care. Charlotte furrowed her eyebrows, a sense of discomfort settling in as she watched the display.

"Ms. Von Liljah," the other man began, his voice polished and professional. "Your father, Mr. Von Liljah, wishes you a quick recovery. He is deeply sorrowed that he was kept at work, preventing him from saying so in person."

Charlotte sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation evident in her expression. Shaking her head slightly, she waved the men off. "Thanks, you may leave."

The men nodded in unison and exited the room, closing the door softly behind them. As the room fell silent once more, Charlotte's gaze drifted to the enormous bouquet of flowers now dominating the bedside table. Its sheer size and opulence overshadowed the smaller, more personal arrangements and cards from her colleagues and friends.

Her father's grand gesture felt like an overwhelming presence, a constant reminder of his need to outshine everyone else. It was as if he always had to be better in everything, even in showing concern. The flowers, though beautiful, seemed to carry the weight of his expectations, a silent testament to the pressure she constantly felt to live up to his standards.

She reached out and gently touched one of the delicate petals, her fingers tracing the soft edges. The scent of the flowers filled the room, mingling with the faint antiseptic smell of the hospital. Despite the extravagance of the bouquet, it failed to bring her the comfort she so desperately needed.

Her phone vibrated again, breaking the contemplative silence of the room. Expecting another message from Jackson or John, Charlotte smiled as she tapped in her password. Her friends' messages had been a comfort, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this ordeal.

But the smile faded into a look of surprise as she saw a notification from her bank instead. $25,000 had been deposited into her account. She blinked, trying to process the unexpected influx of money. Another notification lit up her screen, the message stark and direct.

"Should be more than enough to cover hospital bills."

It was from her father.

Charlotte's initial surprise quickly gave way to a mix of emotions. Gratitude, frustration, and a lingering sense of dependence washed over her. The money was a generous gesture, undeniably helpful given the mounting medical expenses. Yet, it also felt like another instance of her father stepping in, overshadowing her own efforts to handle her life independently.

She stared at the message, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. The hospital room's sterile smell seemed to intensify, mingling with the floral fragrance from the bouquet. She could almost hear her father's voice in the clinical message, practical and detached, solving problems with money rather than words.

With a sigh, Charlotte set her phone down on the bed. The soft beep of the heart monitor and the distant hum of hospital activity outside her door filled the silence. She glanced at the bouquet again, its vibrant colors now seeming more like a garish display of her father's wealth and influence.

The gesture, while generous, felt hollow. It was another reminder of the expectations and pressures that came with being his daughter. Pushing aside the complex web of emotions, she resolved to focus on her recovery, on proving to herself and to everyone else that she could succeed on her own terms.

As she lay back against the pillows, her thoughts turned to the future. She knew the road ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to walk it with her own strength, relying on the genuine support of her friends rather than the overpowering shadow of her father's wealth.

rereading these is actually painful help me— i promise to rewrite them someday

JUST GET THROUGH THESE FIRST CHAPTERS I PROMISE THEY GET BETTER!!!

please feel free to engage with the story !!
– comment, like, & interact. your participation keeps me motivated! thank you!!

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 12.07.24 ❞