AGAINST MY WILL WITH HIM

The morning sunlight crept slowly across the small room, spreading like warm honey over the faded wallpaper and the thin curtains Sandra Wilson had learned to stop replacing. The fabric was worn from years of washing and sun damage, but she liked it—it reminded her that life didn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. It only had to keep going. Sandra stood by the narrow window of her room, arms folded across her chest as she breathed in deeply. The city below was waking up: soft car horns, distantly barking dogs, the rumble of buses carrying tired workers to another day of survival. She understood that feeling too well—survival. If there was anything her twenty-five years had taught her, it was that life never promised fairness, only chances, and those chances often came with a price. She tucked a loose strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear and turned away from the window. The wooden floor creaked under her feet as she walked into the small kitchen. She placed a kettle on the old gas cooker, humming softly to distract herself from the heaviness she had been feeling for the past two weeks. Something was off. Her father’s behavior had become increasingly erratic. More desperate. More secretive. She buttered two slices of bread and placed them in the small toaster. The kitchen was modest—two cupboards, a narrow table, a single stool, and appliances that had served longer than they should have. But Sandra made it warm. Clean. Peaceful. Or so she tried. The kettle whistled. She turned off the cooker, poured herself tea, and sat at the small table, enjoying the little quietness she had before her day began. But the peace didn’t last. “Sandra!” The thunderous voice tore through the house. Her hand jerked, spilling tea on her fingers. “Ow!” She hissed, grabbing a napkin as she rose to her feet. Her father’s voice was unmistakable—rough, impatient, almost frantic. It had been like that lately. She moved quickly to the living room, where she found him pacing back and forth, running a shaky hand through his graying hair. David Wilson used to be handsome—smart, charming, easygoing—but the years hadn’t been kind to him. Or rather, he hadn’t been kind to himself. Gambling had aged him more than time ever could. Sandra leaned on the doorway, crossing her arms. “What is it now?” He looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to appear so quickly. “Oh… Sandra. You’re awake.” “It’s 7:30 a.m.” she said dryly. “I should hope so.” He forced a laugh. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I need your help.” Her stomach tightened. Those four words had become the anthem of her life. “I hope it’s not another gambling situation,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut steel. He swallowed hard. “It’s… complicated.” Sandra stepped closer, anger rising in her veins. “That’s what you said last month. And the month before that. Dad, what did you do this time?” He looked away, guilt painted across his features. “I didn’t mean for things to get this bad,” he muttered. “I thought I could win back everything.” Sandra’s breath hitched. “You gambled again?? After everything? After the last time?” He didn’t answer. She sank onto the couch, covering her face with both hands. A thousand emotions stormed through her chest—anger, fear, disappointment, exhaustion. She wanted to scream. Cry. Shake him. Anything. But instead, she whispered, “How much?” He opened his mouth but no words came out. Sandra dropped her hands slowly, studying him. “How much, Dad?” Before he could answer, the house phone rang. A long, sharp, unfamiliar ring. She frowned. “Who is calling this early?” Her father’s eyes widened. Fear. Real fear. She’d seen disappointment in him, guilt, regret—but never fear this raw. “Don’t answer it,” he blurted out. Sandra stared at him. “Why not?” “Because—because it’s not… it’s not for you.” She ignored him and walked to the small table where the phone sat. “Hello?” The voice on the other end was low, smooth, controlled—yet carried a certain edge, like a blade sliding over silk. “Good morning, Ms. Wilson.” Sandra’s heart skipped. “Yes?” “My name is Williams Brown.” She blinked. The name meant nothing to her. But the weight behind it… the commanding tone… it made her uneasy. “I’m calling regarding your father,” the voice continued. Sandra’s grip tightened on the phone. “My father? Did something happen to him?” “Something,” the man replied, “but not what you think. I don’t believe we have met, but it is necessary that we do. Immediately.” Sandra’s brows furrowed. “Who exactly are you?” “I am the man your father made an agreement with,” he said evenly. “An agreement he failed to uphold.” Her heartbeat quickened. “What kind of agreement?” There was silence. Heavy. Intentional. Then: “He gave you as collateral, Ms. Wilson.” Sandra’s breath caught. Her fingers trembled. She felt the world tilt beneath her. “I—I'm sorry, what?” she whispered. “You heard me. Your father wagered his debt with something he valued most. You.” Sandra’s knees buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the table for support. Her voice shook. “That’s not possible. Nobody can—he can’t do that. I’m not property.” “Legally,” the man said, “no. But in the gambling world, your father signed an agreement. And he lost.” Sandra felt sick. Her father rushed to her, grabbing her arm. “Sandra, listen—listen to me—” “You gambled me away?!” she screamed, pulling from him. He flinched. Tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t want to! I thought I could win!” “But you lost!” she snapped. “You lost me, Dad! How could you—how could you do that?!” “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” he whispered, voice trembling. The man on the phone cleared his throat. “Ms. Wilson. Your father’s apology does not cancel the debt.” Sandra’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. “What do you want from me?” Again, silence. This time colder. Final. “We will discuss that when we meet. I expect you at my residence at 6 p.m. tonight. The address will be sent to your phone.” Sandra swallowed hard. “And if I don’t come?” His voice shifted into something darker. “Then your father will face consequences he is not equipped to survive.” Her entire body froze. Then the line went dead. Sandra stood there, trembling, breathing harshly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. Her father reached for her hand, but she stepped back. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t touch me.” “Sandra… please…” She shook her head. “You’re supposed to protect me. Not sell me off like some object.” His eyes filled with tears. “I know. I know. I’m a terrible father. I—I didn’t think he’d actually call. I thought I could… I could fix it before it got to this.” Sandra stared at him, speechless. Broken. After a long moment, she whispered, “What kind of man is he? Who is he?” Her father swallowed. “He’s… powerful. Rich. Dangerous. Williams Brown is a billionaire with influence everywhere. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to make people afraid. People don’t cross him. He—he controls more than you can imagine.” Sandra felt her throat dry. “And you gambled with him?” “I didn’t know who he was at first,” he whispered. “But when I found out, it was too late.” Sandra sank onto the couch, her whole body shaking. For years, she had carried responsibility, pain, and disappointment—but this… this betrayal was a wound that pierced deeper than blood. She hugged her knees and buried her face in them, letting her tears fall silently. Life had never been kind to her. But this? This was something else entirely. Nothing in her life would ever be the same. Not after today.