Emilia Hayes POV:
Calvin Sinclair's words were like ice dropped into hot oil, shattering the fragile calm. I took a step back, watching him warily.
"I... I don't have any money to pay you."
He let out a soft chuckle, closing the distance between us until my back was pressed against the door. "Do I look like a man who needs money?"
His gaze was so intense it felt like a physical touch, pinning me in place. I felt like prey.
The sheer force of his presence was suffocating, but I tilted my chin up, refusing to look away. "Then what do you want?"
He reached out, his fingers cool against my skin as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I flinched at the contact.
"Remember," he murmured, his voice a low promise. "You owe me one."
He retracted his hand and turned away, walking toward the bar and clearing a path for me to leave.
I stared, stunned that he was letting me go so easily. Not daring to question it, I fumbled with the lock, pulled the door open, and fled from the suffocating atmosphere of his suite.
The cool night air hit my face as I ran out of the hotel, a welcome shock to my overheated mind. I hailed a cab, giving the driver the address I both hated and had no choice but to return to.
The taxi pulled up in the familiar, manicured neighborhood. I paid the fare and dragged my exhausted body toward the house that looked pristine on the outside but was a prison on the inside. It was once my home, but now, it was just a cage.
As I unlocked the door, the shrill voice of my stepmother, Jaimie Gilbert, echoed from the living room. "Where the hell did that little bitch run off to? Mr. Stone has been calling me nonstop! Ira, this is all your daughter's fault!"
My father, Ira Hayes, answered in his usual spineless tone. "Honey, don't be angry. Emilia... she's just having a hard time."
I stepped into the living room. Jaimie was lounging on the sofa in a silk robe while my father massaged her shoulders. My half-sister, Alondra, was scrolling on her phone, a smirk playing on her lips.
The moment they saw me, Jaimie shot up from the sofa, her finger pointing at my nose. "You finally decided to come back? Do you have any idea who you offended? Mr. Stone is our company's biggest investor!"
I stared at her coldly, saying nothing. My silence only seemed to infuriate her more.
She lunged, trying to grab my hair. I sidestepped her easily, my gaze shifting to my father. "So, for your company, you sold me?"
Ira's face flushed, his eyes darting away from mine. "What do you mean, sold... It's for the good of the family... Your mother's illness..."
The mention of my mother was a knife twisting in my gut. I clenched my fists, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall.
Just then, my fiancé, Donnie Evans, walked down the stairs. He was in his pajamas, clearly having made himself at home here. He put on a look of deep concern the moment he saw me.
"Emilia, you're back! Where did you go? I was so worried about you!"
He tried to take my hand, but I recoiled as if he were diseased.
"Don't touch me," I said, my voice ice. "Donnie, you gave Warren Stone the hotel key card, didn't you?"
The loving expression on Donnie's face froze. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes before he masked it with a look of hurt. "Honey, what are you talking about? How could I ever do something like that?"
His performance was so convincing. If I hadn't smelled the same cheap cologne he wore in Warren's drink, I might have actually believed him.
I looked at the ugly faces of my so-called family, the last shred of warmth in my heart turning to ash. "My dear father, my dear stepmother, and my 'loving' fiancé... How does it feel, pushing me into hell together?"
Jaimie shrieked, "You ungrateful thing! We raised you, and this is how you repay us? What's wrong with asking you to contribute to the family?"
I let out a cold laugh, done wasting my breath on them. I turned and walked toward the stairs, heading for my mother's room.
Jaimie's curses followed me, but I didn't care anymore. I needed to see my mother. She was the only reason I was still holding on.
I pushed open the door to her room. The heavy scent of herbal medicine hit me immediately. The room was small and sparsely furnished, a stark contrast to the rest of the lavish house.
My mother, Eleanor, lay on the bed. She opened her eyes weakly at the sound. "Emi, you're back..." Her voice was barely a whisper.
I saw her pale face, the overturned bowl of soup on the nightstand, and a dark bruise on the back of her hand. Rage, white-hot and absolute, consumed me.
"Was it Jaimie?" I asked, my voice shaking.
My mother shook her head, trying to defend her. "No, it was my own fault, I was clumsy..."
But I knew my mother, and I knew Jaimie. She must have come in here to gloat, to torment my sick, helpless mother.
The fire in my chest exploded. They weren't just trying to sell me; they were torturing the only person I had left.
Ira, Jaimie, Donnie... I will make them pay for every ounce of pain they've inflicted.
I took a deep breath, my eyes turning cold and hard as I stepped back out of the room.
If they wanted to play dirty, then so would I.
This house, this engagement, this family name—I didn't want any of it anymore.
