Black Card
1047 Words
The morning light in the Cross Mansion felt like an intruder. It spilled across the expensive silk sheets of Mia’s bed, mocking the darkness she felt inside. She didn't feel like a bride. She didn't even feel like a person. She felt like a ledger, a list of debts and payments.
She reached under her pillow and touched the two checks. Ten thousand dollars. To the old Mia, that was a fortune. It was enough to move her father to a better facility; it was enough to buy a used car and disappear into a new city. But in this house, it was just the price of her dignity.
A knock at the door made her stiffen. Before she could answer, it swung open.
Damien stood there, fully dressed in a midnight-blue suit that cost more than her father’s entire life insurance policy. He looked refreshed, cold, and entirely unaffected by the night they had shared. His eyes swept over her, lingering on the messy tangles of her hair and the paleness of her skin.
"Get up," he said. No 'good morning.' No 'how are you feeling.' Just a command.
"Where are we going?" Mia asked, pulling the duvet tighter around her chest.
"We aren't going anywhere. You are going to the city center. I’ve opened a private account in your name at Cross Holdings Bank." He stepped into the room, tossing a black titanium credit card onto her nightstand. "The funds from last night have been deposited. From now on, your... 'transaction fees' will be wired directly there. I don't want paper checks lying around for the staff or Richard to find."
Mia looked at the black card. It felt heavy with the weight of her choice. "You’re making it very official, Damien."
"You were the one who demanded a price, Mia," he sneered, leaning against the bedpost. "I’m simply ensuring the accounting is accurate. I expect my wife to look the part. Use that card to buy clothes that don't look like they came from a charity bin. We have three gala invitations this week, and I won't have my cousin whispering that I'm starving you."
Mia’s stomach turned. The mention of food or the lack of it made the familiar wave of nausea rise in her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her face neutral.
"Is that all?" she asked.
Damien’s eyes narrowed. He walked closer until he was standing right over her. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. His touch was electric, and Mia hated how her body betrayed her by leaning into it.
"One more thing," he whispered, his voice dropping to that dangerous, gravelly tone that always made her heart skip. "Richard is asking questions about your 'illness' last night. He told the Board he thinks you’re hiding something. If I see you running out of a room again, I’ll make sure your father’s medical funding is 're-evaluated.' Do you understand?"
"You wouldn't," Mia breathed, her eyes widening.
"Try me." He pulled his hand away as if she had burned him. "Be ready by noon. A driver is waiting."
The high-end boutiques of the city were a blur of chiffon, lace, and judgmental sales clerks. Mia walked through the stores like a ghost. She bought the loose-fitting dresses she needed to hide her stomach in the coming months, but she felt no joy in the luxury.
Every time she swiped that black card, she felt Damien’s shadow over her.
She was sitting in a quiet café, trying to force herself to sip on ginger ale to settle her stomach, when a shadow fell over her table. She looked up, expecting to see her driver.
Instead, she saw Richard Cross.
"Shopping for a new identity?" Richard asked, pulling out a chair without an invitation. He looked at the mountain of shopping bags next to her. "Damien is certainly being generous. Or is this hush money?"
"It's a marriage, Richard. Husbands usually provide for their wives," Mia said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her ears.
"Not Damien," Richard laughed, leaning in close. "Damien provides for investments. He provides for assets. He doesn't provide for people unless they have something he wants." He lowered his voice, his eyes darting to her stomach. "You’ve gained a little weight, Mia. Just a glow. Or maybe... a little roundness?"
Mia’s heart stopped. She instinctively pulled her coat tighter. "I’m eating well. The mansion has a chef, if you hadn't noticed."
"I noticed," Richard whispered. "I also noticed the trash in the guest bathroom this morning. A very specific kind of box. A pregnancy test, Mia? Only... the results weren't there. Just the empty box."
Mia felt the blood drain from her face. She had been so careful. She had buried that box at the bottom of the bin.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, her voice cracking.
"Don't worry," Richard said, standing up and patting her hand. The touch made her skin crawl. "I won't tell Damien. Not yet. I want to see how long you can play him for a fool. Just remember, Mia... when he finds out you've been lying to him, he won't just take the card back. He’ll take everything."
He walked away, leaving Mia shaking in her seat. She looked down at her ginger ale. She wasn't safe. The mansion wasn't safe. Even the city wasn't safe.
She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. She looked at the balance of the new bank account Damien had opened. $10,000.
It wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed to endure Damien’s coldness and his touch for a few more weeks. She had to build a wall of money so high that even the Cross family couldn't climb over it.
She stood up, grabbed her bags, and walked toward the exit. She had to get back to the mansion. She had to play the part of the happy, greedy wife. Because the alternative... losing her baby to Damien or her father’s life to Richard was a death sentence.
- Writer
