At last! Haza (in the words of Merv)! The wait is over! My apologies, it is with my deepest regret that I forced you to wait this long, however my mind has been CHAOS lately. Argh. But here I am, with two full chapters.

Emy: SORRY!! :( But here they are!

Shiny Temptation: Again, SORRY!! Oh, but I like the new name. Shiny things rule. Glad you liked 53, writing it was like doing surgery on myself. You may be on to something about C and A, and I agree, Meghan is being a lil selfish - as is intended for this stage of the story. It's a fault of hers - Meghan is NO MarySue! And I hope these chapters are juicy enough for you. I suspect they will be.

Mari324: Thanx! 53's one of my favs too. I hope your need will FINALLY be satisfied. :)

Mrs.Scott323: Gosh, I hope I haven't lost you! :( Glad you liked the song. And believe me, I know how schoolwork goes. :P

peculiarjuliar: Wow! SO happy you like my story! And I love suspense, sarcasm, and wit - glad I've been able to convey those things through my writing. Hope you'll read more! :)

From now on, if it isn't minded, methinks I'll answer reviews privately - everyone might like it better that way - unless someone brings something up that I feel should be publicly addressed. I promise to answer them all!

Enough of my blathering...only, I warn you all...you should brace yourselves...

It was as if all of her feelings had been shut off. Numbed. Made non-existent. And only one feeling surfaced and grew, burning in her soul more than it ever had before, taking hold and wrenching her: hopelessness.

This couldn't be happening. So many others had gone against her, turning their backs or trying to bring her down for reasons that were invalid or untrue. The blonde witch and her conniving grandfather had always been preparing her death bed, their hot, sickening breath hanging over her whenever she was in their presence. And then there had been Faye, not to mention her vengeful friends, who had crushed her with the friendships they withdrew from right under her - almost crushing Daphne in the process.

But there was one person she'd thought would always protect and defend her, would never leave her side no matter what circumstances hurled themselves at them. She'd had doubts, and he'd calmed them, telling her not to worry about rubbish like that. And he'd made her believe that she was more important to him than anything else in his world. A world she thought he'd wanted to reject.

But right now, right in front of her, he was accepting it with open arms. And every doubt that she had ever had was confirmed. For Meghan had just witnessed the most horrible thing imaginable:

Her love, eyes closed, his lips locked with those of Clarissa Payne's.

Not you...Luke.

Only a short, labored cry managed to escape from within her before she took her eyes away. She was wracked with so much grave intensity that for a few moments she was stock still, standing and hazily shaking her head, trying to process what was going on. Meghan vaguely felt a warm hand that had been on her back as it moved to her arm, gently gripping it as it shook slightly.

Then, she acted.

Everything was in slow motion as Meghan tore away from Henry's grip and ran, crashing through the crowds in a dead sprint toward the door. Her mind caught shreds of outbursts from various people as her feet hit the ground, and she willed her legs to move faster, to no avail. They were gelatin, treading through a sea of chocolate pudding. She reached her aimed destination, that doorway that led to who knew and who cared where. And as she sped through, one loud, booming voice rang out, clear as it broke through the swirling noise.

"MEGHAN!"

That was the signal. The gunshot that started the race. And everything shifted from grinding fog to some kind of frantic clarity - the fast-forward button had been hit. Meghan's run had started as something she'd merely grasped at, not knowing what else to do. But now, it became her mission.

She would not let him get to her. She would not let anyone stop her from running far, far away.

"Meghan, WAIT!" she heard again, and she knew she would be pursued. But Meghan ran faster.

She was running down a long, carpeted hallway. The voices in the ballroom grew more and more distant as she reached the end of said hallway, where it veered off in two directions. Meghan chose to go right, hoping that would somehow lead to a way out.

She willed more speed to go to her legs, wishing she could take off her impudent heels but knowing she wouldn't have time. They hurt Meghan's feet and threatened to twist as they pounded the age-old floor. Late tears started rolling down her cheeks as she began to sob.

"Meghan!" she heard once more, more distant now. She was making headway, and satisfying that raw desire to leave the one who'd stabbed her far behind. Meghan turned another corner, now in full-blown, wet despair. Another corner. And soon, she came upon the giant doors she'd previously come through, shoving one open with all of her strength.

Instantly, her presence was made known to about ten unwitting reporters and their camerapersons, who had turned away from the mansion as they made their subtle, post-guest arrival banters on film. Also taken by surprise were the lingering paparazzi, who immediately grabbed their cameras and frantically flashed snapshots of the hot mess of a girl who'd just burst out of the building.

Meghan briefly noticed the flashes as she ran, and braced herself, bending her head as she made herself go even faster. She'd taken on these things, for him. And now, he was gone - but those wretched, despicable cameras were still there. Her private anonymity was already long gone, and would never return.

The tremendously huge iron gates in front of the mansion were still open. Meghan bolted through them. One news station had decided to set up camp right outside, and Meghan barely managed to dodge a reporter who lunged at her from the left as she cleared the exit. She ran in the opposite direction, right, with no intention of stopping.

Her eyes were so filled with tears that she could barely see. She blinked, and was able to catch sight of unsuspecting stranger just before slamming into them. The tears raced down her face and fell everywhere - down her neck, or onto her dress, or clear to the ground. Meghan's breathing was labored as she took in huge, heaving breaths to supplement the acts of crying and of running. Her heart pounded in her throat, almost unable to keep up with its stressors. Meghan rounded another corner.

So this is what it's like. Meghan thought. To be heartbroken.

All of those well-known sights of London blazed past her, seemingly telling her to go, get out, and never come back. Everything, and everyone, was mocking her. She considered shouting back at them, that they had no right, that they didn't know her. But perhaps they did. Perhaps everyone in this entire world knew that she was a low class, sewer-sprung, good for nothing, deformed-looking, rebellious liar that didn't deserve to be loved by anyone of the male persuasion. Not a friend. Not a boyfriend. Not even a father.

No, she only deserved to have to spend the days of her life filling the milk bowls of a thousand hungry cats as they graced every square foot of the stuffy, lint-filled, decrepit old barn she'd live in. In Idaho.

Meghan only barely noticed that she'd somehow ended up in a place that seemed familiar to her. She began to slow down, and looked behind her. She saw only strangers. Luke had not followed her.

Seeing this, Meghan decided that, at least for a few seconds, she needed to stop. She did so, right in front of a dark, abandoned cafe. Meghan looked up at the sign that read, "The Crystal Spoon", and then just stood there, staring up at it and still sobbing. It just. Was not. Fair. Clarissa had ruined everything - but only because, Meghan realized, she'd allowed her to. If she'd just told Henry the truth, this could've all been averted. Clarissa would not have been able to hold a candle to her. Faye would still be happy. The Crystal Spoon would still be in business. Certainly, her silver locket would've been returned to her.

And Luke...well, she just didn't know about Luke. She knew nothing about Luke. He didn't love her.

He doesn't love me. What a dagger that was, and a sharp one. And she'd left so many wounds open, ready for him to ram it through. So, he'd done it. He'd made her think that he was there for her, forever. But he'd been helping Clarissa the whole time.

Maybe she knew! Maybe Clarissa knew her secret. Maybe she and Luke had worked together to break Meghan, in the worst way possible, to keep it hidden. If so, they'd succeeded. They'd prevented her from telling Daphne's father the truth.

But not for long, Meghan decided. She'd go to him the first chance she got, and end the silence once and for all. Oh, she'd be back. With a vengeance. But it couldn't be now.

Meghan couldn't bear to look at the cafe any longer. In a second, she was running again, letting her feet guide her wherever they intended to go.

Fifteen minutes earlier...

Luke felt as if he were washing away in some dream. Everything he heard was slow and syrupy, running a race to plug up his ears. He wasn't even sure if he were still standing up, or if he were just floating there. He felt as if the floor was slowly flipping over, turning him upside down, and it felt as if he were standing on the ceiling. All he had to hold on to was his love, Meghan, who had let him fall into her, pressing her lips against his.

Wait...was that someone shouting?

Luke thought he'd heard an outburst...then another...but it had melted away somehow, washing down his consciousness. He heard even more noise, and wondered what all the fuss was about. And then, vaguely, he heard something flow out in Meghan's voice. It sounded sort of...distant. And pained. It was strange.

Why had everything fallen silent all of a sudden? Was he in a dream? He shouldn't be asleep. He couldn't remember going home, or to bed. Hadn't he intended to go with Meghan, to tell Lord Dashwood...something? What was he doing now? All he felt was her mouth on his, her shoulder in his hand, her perfume...which suddenly didn't smell very nice. It was rather overbearing. It made him open his eyes.

What? All the lights were on! Why was this, and why was everything such a blur? He looked down to Meghan's neck. Around it hung her silver locket. When had she put that on? Had he missed something, here?

And then, he saw it. A curled lock of hair, hanging over his eye. It wasn't brown. It was blonde.

"Lucas!" he heard, plain and clear, in a voice he recognized. "Have you lost your damn mind?!"

Lord Dashwood.

Luke tore away from the one he was kissing, struggling to obtain his focus. His hand flew to his head, and he closed his eyes, trying to get them working right again. The other hand stayed on the girl, gripping her shoulder as he almost tumbled, swaying side to side. But she stood up straight. She was like a rock.

Luke opened his eyes, and looked at her. She was not Meghan.

Panic instantly washed over him. His eyes darted around, frantically, until he caught a glimpse of cream-colored organza as it sped out the door.

"MEGHAN!" he shouted, letting go of the other girl at once, almost stumbling again. He gasped for breath, shook his head manically, and started forward.

"Lucas, wait!" cried a honey-coated, vile voice. He felt a hand grab his arm. Luke whirled around fiercely to face the girl, whom he now identified as being Clarissa.

"You!" he spat, enraged. He grabbed the necklace that adorned the witch's neck, ripping it off and throwing it across the room. "Get the hell away from me!" he roared, pushing her several feet away and starting again after Meghan. He willed himself with all he could to be focused, be clear, be in control of his body. Everything he saw wavered in pairs, threatening to separate even more. Nevertheless, he pushed forward, and began to run.

"Meghan, WAIT!" he shouted again. Luke pushed through the crowds and flew to the door - only to see her turn a corner at the end of the hall. He stopped a few feet through and lurched to the side, still incredibly dizzy and quickly becoming miserable with guilt and regret. Luke caught himself, and stood back up straight, just before nearly crashing to the ground.

He barely noticed when Alistair Payne shuffled up next to him.

"Don't worry." Luke heard him casually remark. "She'll be back, in another seventeen years or so."

The boy just stared straight ahead for a moment, registering what had been said. Then, he turned to face Alistair, eyes smoldering with fury. Luke positioned himself right in front of the bald buffoon, staring him straight in the face.

"I know what you did." Luke told him, his voice low and menacing. "And if Meghan doesn't expose you for the snake you truly are, then I will. I swear it."

It was then that Luke took something out of his pocket; something, unbeknownst to Meghan, that he had planned on showing Henry when they told him the truth. He now took that object and shoved it against Alistair's chest, before breaking into a run to try and reach the girl he'd betrayed.

"MEGHAN!" he shouted once again, not even sure if she heard him.

Meanwhile, Alistair's attention was now on the object, as it drifted to the floor. Picking it up and glancing at it, he saw that it was a note, with his initials at the bottom. And of course, he remembered it. Still, he only shrugged his shoulders, as he reentered the ballroom, joining its flabbergasted occupants. Alistair, though - he didn't consider himself too surprised.

Until he saw it.

It was just a little glint on the floor, in a far corner of the room. But for some reason, he felt inclined to walk over to it. After all, it could be something valuable that he could hawk for money.

Once there, he bent down to pick the thing up. On second thought, maybe it wasn't all that valuable. Though it was jewelry, a locket to be exact, it looked to be made out of silver - with no precious gems whatsoever. Just as he was about to lose interest and drop the thing back to the floor, he turned the pendant over - and was intrigued once again.

Meghan Reynolds. Hmm.

Of course, there was only one thing to do next. Open the locket. Which would have been easy, if you were a teenage girl, with long nails. Alistair, however, was a bald old man with short, stubby ones. Needless to say, opening that silver object took a while, and he found it quite frustrating and agonizing.

But he did it. And he found that he couldn't quite drink in the images inside quick enough for his taste.

On one side, there was a picture of two people: a blonde-haired man and a brown-haired little girl. They looked to be roughhousing a bit, the man holding the girl tightly with a smile, her face in frozen laughter. Oh, how very very sweet and lovely.

The other image, however, was much more interesting to Alistair.

In this picture were four people, four women to be exact. Two of them late thirtyish, two of them preteen girls. The two older women stood side by side, each with their arms wrapped around the shoulders of a girl, and they all looked to be wearing simple dresses. On the left, an extremely dark-haired woman stood, arms resting on a girl who had the same hair but a different face. The girl's identity registered: it was a younger Meghan. Next to Meghan stood another girl, who looked to be about the same age. Her hair was a lighter brown, her face different from all three of them. Both her eyes and her smile, however, struck chords in Alistair's mind.

And then, he saw her.

Her arms were wrapped around the chestnut-haired girl, though the woman herself was blonde - possessing the exact same hair color as the man in the opposite picture. Her face was bright and beaming, and her dress was definitely more of a bohemian style, compared to the rest.

And instantly, Alistair knew. She was, unmistakably, Elizabeth Reynolds.

The necklace went in his pocket. His cell phone went to his ear. And Alistair went out the door.