THE MIDNIGHT CONTRACT

Inheritance of ruin

Chapter 2

Isadora's POV

I glared at Mr. Doyle, and he held my gaze.At this point, the sting on my cheek had settled into a dull throb.My thoughts drifted—uninvited—to my bank account, to the loan notice sitting unopened on my kitchen table for four days. To my father's debt that never left me, always there at the back of my mind like a stone I’d learned to carry.I pushed away from the bar and crossed the restaurant, stopping right in front of Margaux’s table."I apologize for the spillage, ma'am," I said flatly. Every word was exactly what was required.Margaux looked up at me with the slow satisfaction of someone who had gotten exactly what they ordered."That's it?" she said. "That's your apology?""Yes, it is. I'd apologized before.""No groveling? No tears?" The woman on the left said, glancing at Margaux with a small smile. “Doyle will really hire anyone these days,” Margaux rasped. “Even people who are mentally unstable.”Something shifted behind my eyes, and I fought hard to stay still."I apologize for the spillage," I repeated. "I don't apologize for anything else.""Excuse me?""You hit me." My voice stayed level. Quiet. "You hit me twice, across the face in front of a full restaurant over a spilled drink. I've apologized for the spillage. I won't apologize for your reaction to it."The table went absolutely still.Mrs. Margaux set down her glass very slowly. "Do you know who I am?""It wouldn't change anything." I said, picked up the damp napkins from the table and straightened up. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."I turned and walked back to the bar leaving them stunned.Mr. Doyle was already there, and the expression on his face told me everything before he opened his mouth."You're done for tonight," he said. "Leave your apron.""Wait… I’m fired?"A pause. "I'm asking you to go home and—""Am I fired? Mr. Doyle."Another pause. Longer. "Your services are no longer required, Isadora. I'll process your final pay minus the cost of—""Minus the cost," I cut him off."The tablecloth, the dry cleaning for Mrs. Margaux's—""So, you're docking my wages." I unclipped my name badge. "For an accident. While she walks out of here having hit a member of your staff and spent nothing.""That's not—""Fine." I set the badge on the bar. Pulled off my apron and folded it. "Then I quit. Which means you owe me everything. Unfined, undocked, every hour I worked this week.""If you walk out that door without listening, I—""You'll what?" I picked up my bag. "Give me a bad reference? File it with the other things I can't afford to care about." I scoffed. “Screw you. Screw Margaux.” I walked toward the exit without looking back. He called my name once, but I pushed through the door and out into the cold evening air without looking back..The satisfaction lasted exactly fifteen seconds. Then reality crashed over me like a wave; I'd just lost my job. One of three jobs I desperately needed to pay my father's debts. Eleven hundred pounds a month, gone. Just like that, because of one tipped glass, one woman with a temper, one manager who had calculated my worth against hers and found me easily replaceable.I pressed my fingers to my cheek. Still warm. The shape of her hand still faintly there, like a signature I hadn't consented to.I had thirty two days until the next debt payment. I had four pounds in my account. I had a bartending shift starting in thirty minutes on the other side of the city. I started walking, my feet carrying me toward the subway station. I'd go home, take a shower, then prepare for my shift at Luxe Noir.“Thom… look what you’ve done to your innocent child…” I mumbled tearingly as I quickened my pace.……………The subway ride felt longer than usual. Every stop seemed to take forever. By the time I finally reached my neighborhood in Cedar Lanes, it was almost dark.I walked the three blocks to my apartment building, exhaustion weighing heavily on me, but there was no time to rest. I still had to get ready for my next shift.Then I saw them.My things. Scattered on the sidewalk outside my building.My art supplies. My clothes. My books. Everything I owned, just thrown on the dirty street like garbage."Not again," I whispered, breaking into a run. "No, no, no."Men in brown suits were carrying furniture out of the building. My furniture. My father's furniture. The couch where I'd spent countless nights studying. The table where we used to eat dinner together."Stop!" I screamed, running toward them. "What are you doing? That's my stuff!"One of the men turned to look at me but didn't stop. He just kept loading boxes into a truck parked at the curb."Excuse me!" I grabbed his arm. "You can't just take my things!""Ma'am, please step back," he said, shaking off my grip."No! This is my apartment! Those are my things! You have no right—""Actually, we do."The voice came from behind me. I spun around.A man stood near the entrance to my building. He was maybe fifty, wearing an expensive suit and glasses that glinted in the streetlight. He held a clipboard in one hand and looked at me with the cold indifference of someone who'd done this a hundred times before."Who are you?" I demanded."Stone & Associates. We're a debt collection agency representing several creditors your father owed money to."My stomach twisted violently. "My father's debts were being handled," I said, my voice shaking. "I've been making payments. I—""Your payments haven't been sufficient." He consulted his clipboard. "You're currently six months behind on multiple accounts. Total amount owed: four hundred, seventy-two thousand dollars."The number hit me like a physical blow. Four hundred seventy-two thousand dollars."That's not possible," I whispered. "It was supposed to be less. Much less.""Interest," the man said simply. "Late fees. Collection costs. It adds up."I watched as another man carried out my mother's painting. The one my father had commissioned of her before she died. The only picture I had left of her."Please," I said, my voice breaking. "Please, you can't take that. It's not worth anything to you. It's just... it's all I have left of my mother."The man with the clipboard didn't even look up. "Half of the things in the apartment are being seized as partial payment for the outstanding debt.""I'll pay more," I said desperately. "I'll get another job. I'll work harder. I'll figure it out. Just please, give me more time."“You’ve already had six months. Your time is almost up.”Tears spilled down my cheeks. I didn’t care that I was crying in front of strangers anymore. Didn’t care that people had stopped to stare.“You have until the second of next month to pay at least half of the debt,” the man said coldly. “If you fail, we’ll take whatever is left. After that, the locks will be changed.”I opened my mouth to beg again, but he stepped closer before I could speak.“Stone & Associates won’t write this off as a loss after you default,” he whispered. “They’ll come after you. Your life. No matter where you hide.”Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk surrounded by cardboard boxes filled with everything I owned.Today was October twenty-second.That meant I had barely ten days left until November second.Ten days.Where was I supposed to find that kind of money in ten days? I would be homeless before I ever came close.My legs gave out beneath me, and I sank onto the cold pavement. Around me, the movers kept loading the truck without a second glance. My bed. My father’s desk. The bookshelf he built for me when I was twelve. Gone. All of it was gone.I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in my arms as the sobs tore through me.Six months ago, my father died and left behind debts I never even knew existed. Since then, I’d dropped out of school, worked myself to exhaustion, and sold everything valuable I owned. It still hadn’t been enough. Nothing was ever enough.I sat there on the pavement, watching strangers pack away almost more than half of our properties, wondering just how much lower a person could fall.❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️