The Wrong Penthouse

Chapter Eleven: When Everything Falls Apart

Ariana POV

The box was lying on the floor. For a few seconds, I simply stared at it. My mind refused to process what I was seeing.

The wooden box where I had kept every dollar I saved for my mother's treatment was open. Empty. My heart stopped.

Slowly, I walked toward it.

"No..." The word barely escaped my lips.

My hands trembled as I dropped to my knees beside the box. I searched through it frantically, hoping I had somehow missed something. Maybe the money had fallen underneath the bed. Maybe I had moved it somewhere else. Maybe—

But deep down, I already knew the truth. The money was gone. All ten thousand dollars. Every extra shift. Every sacrifice.

Every bonus. Every dollar Chloe had insisted I keep whenever she tried helping me. Gone.

A strangled sob escaped my throat. I wrapped my arms around myself as tears blurred my vision. That money wasn't for me. It wasn't for a vacation. It wasn't for a new apartment. It wasn't for anything selfish. It was for my mother. For her treatment. For her chance to keep fighting.bI lowered my head and cried.

For the first time in years, I felt completely helpless.

The apartment suddenly felt suffocating. I needed air. I pushed myself to my feet and headed toward the door. Then I heard it.

The sound of someone fumbling with the lock. My stomach tightened instantly. The door swung open. My father stumbled inside. The strong smell of alcohol hit me before he even spoke. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot. And in that moment, I knew exactly what had happened.

"Dad."

He barely looked at me. Instead, he headed straight toward the kitchen. Something inside me snapped. "Where is it?"

He stopped. "What?"

"The money."

His shoulders stiffened. "What money?"

"The money you stole."

He slowly turned around. For a moment neither of us spoke. Then he laughed.

The sound made my blood boil. "You took it."

He shrugged. "I needed it."

My vision blurred with tears. "That money was for Mom."

"So?"

The single word shattered something inside me. "So?" I repeated.

"She's sick," he said dismissively. "She's been sick for years."

I stared at him in disbelief. How could he say that? How could he talk about her like she was nothing? "That was her treatment money."

He rolled his eyes. "You keep wasting money on hospitals."

"Wasting money?"

"She's dying anyway."

The words hit me like a physical blow. For a second I couldn't breathe. My hands clenched into fists.

"You don't mean that."

"Oh, I do."

His expression hardened. "You're throwing your life away trying to save someone who isn't going to make it."

Tears streamed down my face. I hated him. I hated alcohol. I hated the years of disappointment. I hated the way he could destroy everything and somehow still believe he was the victim.

"You had no right."

"I have every right."

He pointed around the apartment. "This is my house."

"No."

My voice shook. "It stopped being your house when Mom became the only parent who actually cared."

His face darkened instantly. Before I could react, he stepped forward. The force of his shove sent me stumbling backward. Pain shot through my side as I collided with the kitchen counter. A cry escaped my lips.

For a moment everything spun. The room.

The lights. The anger. The Heartbreak.

Everything.

I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself. My chest rose and fell rapidly. Across the room, my father looked at me.

But for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of him. I was exhausted. There was a difference. Years of frustration. Years of disappointment. Years of watching him destroy everything he touched.

I was simply tired. "Get out."

His eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Get out."

"You don't tell me what to do."

"I will do it tonight."

Something in my voice must have reached him. Because he actually hesitated. I took a step forward.

"You stole from your own daughter." Silence. "You stole money meant for your wife." More silence. "You walked into this apartment expecting me to forgive you again." I shook my head. "Not this time."

For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face. The realization gave me no satisfaction. Only sadness. Because this was my father. And somewhere along the way, I had lost him. Or maybe I never really had him at all.

After a long moment, he muttered something beneath his breath. Then he turned. A second later, the door slammed shut behind him. And he was gone.

The apartment became silent. Painfully silent. I sank onto the floor. The adrenaline disappeared almost immediately. Leaving behind nothing but exhaustion. My body hurts. My heart hurt. Everything hurts. I leaned against the cabinet and closed my eyes. Mom was in the hospital. The treatment money was gone. Dad had disappeared again. And somehow, my life had become even more complicated because of Damian Vale. I thought about him. About the way he looked at me. About the way he made me feel. About the impossible situation we were trapped in.

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over me.

Chloe.bSweet, loyal Chloe. The friend who had stood beside me through everything. I buried my face in my hands. Nothing made sense anymore. At some point, exhaustion won. I didn't take a shower. I didn't clean up. I didn't even close the apartment door properly. I simply curled up on the couch and fell asleep.

The loud buzzing of my phone woke me hours later. I groaned and reached for it blindly. The screen lit up.

Chloe. My stomach dropped. I answered immediately.

"Hello?" All I heard was crying. My heart sank. "Chloe?"

"Ariana..." Her voice broke.

Fear gripped my chest. "What happened?"

There was another sob. Then she whispered the words that made my entire body go cold.

"Damian called off the engagement."

I sat upright instantly. "What?"

"He ended it."

More crying. More heartbreak. More pain. I closed my eyes. Life was cruel. My mother was fighting cancer. My father had stolen my savings. My best friend was heartbroken. And the man responsible for that heartbreak wanted me. How was any of this fair?

I listened quietly as Chloe cried on the other end of the line. And for the rest of the night, sleep never came back. Because no matter which direction I turned, someone was going to get hurt.

And I was beginning to realize that person might be all of us.