Chapter 1
1442 Words
11:30 PM.
I was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the coffee table, pencil in hand, the florist's ledger spread open in front of me. A few crumpled bills and a handful of coins sat in a pile next to it. I was running the numbers for the month, trying to figure out if I could scrape together next month's rent.
The lock clicked.
Liam pushed the door open and walked in, carrying the chill of early autumn on his jacket. He didn't bother changing his shoes. He went straight to the couch, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.
"I'm sorry." His voice came out rough.
I set down the pencil, poured him a glass of warm water, and placed it in front of him. "What happened?"
He looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and slid it across the table.
"The logistics line fell through. Investors pulled out." He stared at the water, his voice flat with exhaustion. "And I'm on the hook for eighty thousand euros. Joint debt."
I picked up the paper. It had a venture capital firm's bright red stamp at the top. Eighty thousand euros. Liam's signature at the bottom.
This was his third bankruptcy in three years. Same story every time — thick loan agreements, aggressive collection notices from the bank, lawyers' letters showing up at the door. I could still hear the debt collectors pounding on our door from the first two rounds. I'd drained myself dry to bail him out. And now a third one.
My left hand was in the pocket of my cardigan. My fingertips brushed against something with a hard edge.
A yellowing business card. It read: Richard Bennett. My biological father. The head of an old-money North American consortium. Someone I hadn't spoken to in years.
He was my last resort. I'd never wanted to admit it. But I didn't see another option.
I ran the numbers in my head. If Liam couldn't get out of this one, what opening line would I use to crawl to that man and ask for money?
"It's okay." I set the IOU back on the table. "We'll figure something out."
Liam's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. He stood up and reached out to ruffle my hair.
"I'm going to take a shower. I've been running around all day — I smell like shit."
He tossed his coat over the arm of the sofa, dropped his watch on the coffee table, and set his tablet down next to it.
The bathroom door closed. The water started running.
I sat there on the rug, staring at the IOU. The creditors would come knocking soon, just like they did the last two times. Eighty thousand euros this time. I didn't know if I could still carry it.
Then the tablet screen lit up.
A new message. From a private group chat with no name.
A: [Heard the Ashford heir "went bankrupt" again today?]
Two candid photos followed.
The first showed me walking out of an underground blood donation center, my face pale, one hand pressing hard on a cotton swab at my elbow, my body swaying. The second showed me standing at the counter of a run-down pawnshop, handing over the last thing my mother left me — an old pocket watch. My back looked stiff and pathetic.
A mocking message followed.
B: [Look at this broke flower girl! Last time, to pay off Liam's debts, she not only sold blood on the black market but also pawned the crappy watch her dead mom left behind. Scraped together a few grand and handed it to Liam like it was a treasure. I'm dying.]
The chat exploded with laughing emojis. Someone else jumped in.
C: [This time it's eighty grand. Hope she doesn't rush off to sell an organ — that'd end the whole "poor me" act too fast.]
A few seconds later, another message.
D: [Seriously though, Liam. She's literally risking her life for you. You're telling me you're not even a little bit moved?]
A full minute passed before his profile picture appeared. Then came his reply.
Liam: [Moved?]
Liam: [Trash from the slums trying to climb her way into the Ashford family? She's nothing but a stray dog I keep around to amuse myself. She doesn't deserve it.]
Liam: [I'm heading back to Monte City soon. Vivian's still waiting for me to pick out an engagement ring.]
The screen stayed lit for a few seconds, then went dark.
The living room was left with nothing but the sound of water running in the bathroom. I stared at the black screen for a moment. Then I reached out and tapped my knuckle against it. The screen lit up again.
Those lines of text. Those two ugly photos. Still there. I hadn't imagined it.
Slowly, I turned my head. My gaze moved from the screen to the IOU. Next to it, Liam's watch sat where he'd dropped it. I picked it up. The metal case was heavy in my hand.
A vintage Patek Philippe. Richard had one just like it in his collection.
The weight of it suddenly overlapped with every sacrifice I'd made before.
Two years ago, Liam's first startup failed. The debt collectors showed up. I sold the small apartment by the sea that my grandmother had left me to settle his accounts.
Six months ago, his second round of debt. I stood in line at the bank for an entire morning, withdrew the last bit of money my mother had left me, went to an underground blood bank, and pawned her only pocket watch — all to barely fill his hole.
I looked down at my right hand.
My index finger. The web of my thumb. The back of my hand. All covered in tiny scars from rose thorns — three years of saving on packaging labor by doing it myself. Old scabs layered with new cuts. The crook of my arm still ached faintly from where the needle went in. Every day, in this cramped basement, I'd counted every single coin the flower shop brought in. I thought we were struggling through this together. Building a future.
But I was just a joke. Something to laugh at. A woman beneath his station whose sacrifices were nothing but cheap self-indulgence in his eyes.
All that debt — just a game he'd set up with his family's money. A test to see how far I'd go.
I set the Patek Philippe back on the table. A soft click.
I sat up straight. Pulled the business card out of my pocket. My fingers were stiff. I mistyped the number once. Hit delete, re-entered the digits, and called.
The phone rang twice. Someone picked up.
"Ivy." A low male voice came through.
I looked at the light spilling from under the bathroom door.
"You've always wanted me to come back to Monte City and meet the person you picked out for me." I heard my own voice echo through the living room — quieter than usual, and colder. "Bankrupt the Ashford family company, and I'll agree to the marriage."
A two-second pause on the other end.
"You've come around." Richard's voice was steady as ever.
"Yes. I'll get married. I'll meet whoever you mentioned." I stared at the IOU on the coffee table. "Send someone to pick me up in three days."
"Good. I'll have a team on standby at Harbor City Airport." Richard said. "Do you need these three days to wrap things up there?"
"Yes," I said. "Three days is enough."
I hung up. Put the card back in my pocket. Pushed the IOU — now nothing but a joke — back to its original spot. Closed the ledger and swept the pile of coins into a drawer.
Ten minutes later, the water stopped.
The bathroom door opened. Liam walked out, towel-drying his hair. He smelled like fresh shower gel. The exhaustion from earlier had mostly faded.
He came up behind the sofa, bent down, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His body pressed against mine, his arms tightening like he was holding onto something precious — a subconscious dependence he didn't even notice himself.
"Ivy." His voice was thick with attachment. "You'll stick by me through this, right?"
It was moments like these — so real, so convincing — that made me jump into every hole he dug.
I didn't turn around. I watched our reflections in the glass coffee table and hummed a quiet "mm-hmm."
- Writer
