THREE DAYS EARLIER
1339 Words
The sound of the alarm felt unnecessary.
Amelia had already been awake for hours.
She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the cracked wall opposite her small room. The paint had peeled in one corner, curling like dry paper. The room smelled faintly of detergent and old food that never quite disappeared no matter how often she cleaned.
A soft voice broke the silence.
“Mummy…”
Amelia turned immediately.
Jethro was standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with both hands. His small pajamas hung loosely on his thin frame.
She forced a smile.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
He walked toward her slowly, climbing onto the bed without waiting for permission. His head rested against her arm.
“I had a dream,” he said.
“Oh?”
“It was about Daddy.”
Amelia’s fingers paused mid-motion.
She didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, she smoothed his hair gently.
“What kind of dream?” she asked softly.
Jethro thought for a moment.
“He was standing near a very big house,” he said. “But he couldn’t come inside.”
Something tightened in her chest.
She swallowed it down.
“Dreams don’t always mean things,” she whispered.
But even as she said it, she didn’t believe it.
---
Later that morning, the fridge gave her the same answer it always did.
Almost empty.
She stared at it for a long moment, then closed it quietly, as if silence might make the problem less real.
On the kitchen table sat three envelopes.
She already knew what they were without touching them.
Bills did not surprise her anymore.
They just arrived.
Like consequences.
She sat down slowly and pulled them closer.
Electricity.
Rent.
Final notice.
Her fingers tightened around the paper until the edges crumpled slightly.
Seven days.
That was all they were giving her now.
Seven days before everything collapsed.
A knock at the door broke her thoughts.
Maya didn’t wait for permission before entering.
“You’re getting worse at pretending everything is fine,” she said immediately.
Amelia didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
Maya raised a brow. “You said that last week. And the week before that.”
“I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
“That’s not the same thing.”
A pause.
Maya placed a folded flyer on the table.
Amelia glanced at it.
Then froze slightly.
Blackwood Industries Environmental Summit.
Her expression shifted before she could stop it.
Maya noticed.
“That name again,” Maya said quietly.
Amelia didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she leaned back in her chair.
“Do you know what they’re doing outside the city?” she asked.
Maya shrugged. “People are talking about land disputes. Pollution. Something about forced relocation.”
Amelia’s jaw tightened.
“People are losing their homes,” she said.
Maya studied her carefully. “And what exactly are you planning to do about it?”
Amelia stood.
The chair scraped softly behind her.
“I’m going to hear him speak.”
Maya frowned. “Amelia—”
“He needs to answer for it.”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
That was what worried Maya the most.
Because Amelia wasn’t usually calm when she was angry.
She was controlled.
Focused.
Dangerous in a quiet way.
Maya stepped closer. “You don’t even know him.”
Amelia looked down at the flyer again.
The name was printed in bold letters.
DAMIEN BLACKWOOD.
“I know enough,” she said.
And that was the problem.
---
The city looked different from the glass tower entrance.
Too polished.
Too distant.
Amelia stood outside the building, watching people in expensive suits move through revolving doors like they belonged to a different species.
She didn’t.
She checked her phone once.
No new messages.
Maya had texted earlier:
Don’t do anything reckless.
Amelia slipped the phone into her pocket without replying.
Inside, the hall was already full.
Voices overlapped in polished tones.
Screens displayed the Blackwood Industries logo.
Everything felt curated.
Controlled.
Amelia stayed near the back.
Waiting.
Then the lights shifted.
The room quieted.
And he appeared.
Damien Blackwood didn’t walk onto the stage like other speakers.
He arrived like the room had been waiting for him to adjust reality.
No introduction felt necessary.
He stood at the podium, calm and still.
“Progress is not built without sacrifice,” he said.
His voice carried easily.
No effort.
No strain.
Amelia’s hands curled slightly at her sides.
Sacrifice.
The word settled too heavily in her chest.
He continued speaking, describing expansion, development, opportunity.
Words that sounded clean.
Too clean.
Like they had been polished before being spoken.
Around her, people nodded.
Some applauded.
Amelia didn’t move.
When the applause came, it felt rehearsed.
False.
She stepped forward before she could reconsider.
A few heads turned.
Then more.
A ripple of attention.
“Your progress destroys lives,” she said clearly.
The room froze.
Silence hit instantly.
Damien didn’t react immediately.
He simply looked at her.
As if the interruption had been expected.
Security shifted slightly.
But then Damien raised one hand.
They stopped.
Amelia noticed that.
They didn’t question him.
They obeyed.
He studied her for a long moment.
Then spoke quietly.
“You think I destroy lives.”
“I know you do,” she replied.
A pause.
Then—
“Come with me.”
---
The office was too quiet again.
Different from his mansion.
Sharper.
Colder.
Amelia stood near the center of the room while Damien remained behind the desk.
She didn’t sit.
She refused to.
“I didn’t come here for a conversation,” she said.
Damien closed a folder slowly.
“You came here for attention.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You wanted to be heard.”
“I wanted you to be accountable.”
A faint pause.
Then he leaned back slightly.
“You cook.”
The shift in topic made her blink.
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It isn’t.”
Amelia crossed her arms. “Are you going to threaten me or insult me? Because I’m not in the mood for corporate games.”
A flicker.
Almost a smile.
Almost.
Instead, he opened a drawer.
Placed a document on the table.
“I need a private chef,” he said.
Amelia stared at it.
Then laughed once.
Sharp.
Unbelieving.
“This is your response?”
“It’s an offer.”
“I accused you of harming people.”
“And I offered you a job.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Amelia shook her head slightly. “No.”
Damien didn’t react.
He simply watched her.
Waiting.
Like this outcome was still undecided.
“I don’t take charity,” she added.
“Then don’t.”
His voice was steady.
The calmness unsettled her more than anger would have.
A pause stretched between them.
Then he said quietly:
“You’ll change your mind.”
Amelia stiffened. “You don’t know me.”
That time, something darker passed through his expression.
“I know enough,” he replied.
Her breath caught slightly.
A mirror.
Her own words from earlier.
Before she could respond, he added:
“Seven days.”
Amelia frowned. “What?”
“Before you lose your apartment.”
Her body went still.
Cold spread through her chest.
“How do you know that?”
Damien didn’t answer.
Instead, he slid the contract closer.
And for the first time, his voice dropped slightly.
“You don’t have options.”
Silence.
Amelia stared at him.
At the contract.
At the man who already knew too much.
Then—
“I’ll
think about it,” she said tightly.
Damien’s gaze held hers.
“That’s enough.”
---
That night, Amelia stood outside her apartment building.
The wind was colder than usual.
She held the flyer in one hand.
The contract in the other.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
No greeting.
Just five words:
YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE THERE.
Amelia’s breath stopped.
And behind her—
A car door closed somewhere too close.
- Writer
