The wife he bought

chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

Zara's POV

I went home.

Not to the Mansion. Not to Damien’s bed with the expensive smelling sheets. Home. To the small house with ugly surrounding, where I grew up. To my father.

He opened the door and stared. Like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had. I was supposed to be dead three times over.

“Zara,” he said. Like he's been waiting all this time. Just my name, and it sounded like an apology.

“Can I come in?”

He stepped aside. The house smelled the same cigarettes he’d promised he quit, instant coffee, shame. But it was also different. The betting slips were gone from the table. There was a flyer about a lecture for Gamblers on the counter.

We sat. Two strangers with the same nose, eyes and mouth. You could tell he was my father with just looking.

“I’m sorry,” he said first. No excuses. No I didn’t know. Just raw and ugly. “For the debt. For the auction. I never should have used you as collateral .” he said to me

I believed him. Or I wanted to.

“There’s something you don’t know,” I told him. My hands shook. “After the auction. After I left. I got sick really sick.” I said His face went pale. “What?”

“Bone marrow failure. Cancer, basically. I was dying, Dad. That’s why Damien the guy who got me at the auction paid Kessler. Why there were doctors. Why I disappeared for months.” I swallowed. “You didn’t know. You sold me without knowing I was already half gone.”

He looked wrecked. Guilty. “Zara, I swear, I didn’t, if I’d known, I never would have—-- gold tooth….” he pauses

“I know,” I said, and I meant it. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t tell you. But I’m telling you now.” I looked him straight in the eye. “I’m in remission. The transplant worked.”

The word still felt foreign. Borrowed.

He covered his mouth with his hand. His shoulders shook. My father, who taught me to hide tears, cried in the kitchen claimed to go get water.

“I swear,” he said when he could speak. “,Zara. Never again. No cards. No bets. No mess. I meant it. Or… I mean it now. I know it's late but I'm gonna be a better father to you” he said fighting back tears

Maybe. Maybe not. Addicts lies. Fathers fails. I’d learned that all my life.

“That’s up to you now,” I said. Quiet. Not cruel. Just true. “If you make a mess again, Dad, you deal with it yourself. I won’t. I can’t. I have a life to live.” I said to him

He nodded. Like he expected it. Like he deserved it. “Do you? A life?” he asked.

I told him about Damien, how I've been living.

I told him about waking up and not counting bruises. About walking without holding the wall. About laughing until my stitches pulled. About gray eyes that lost their coldness. About a contract ripped into pieces on the floor.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do have a life now dad.”

We talked. Little moments. Father-daughter moments we had. He told me Mom used to hide money in her books so he couldn’t gamble it. I told him I found it once and used it to buy textbooks. He laughed. It sounded like hers.

He made tea. It was terrible. But I drank it.

“I’m glad,” he said finally. “That you’re okay. That he… that Voss took care of you.”

“He did,” I said. “He does.”

My father looked down at his mug. “You love him?” he asked me

It wasn’t an accusation this time. It was a question. A father’s question.

“I do.” No hesitation. No shame. “I chose him, Dad. Not the money. Not the contract. Him.”

He nodded again. Slow. “Then go. Be happy. Don’t… don’t look back for me. Not if it hurts.” he said with tears

I hugged him before I left. He was thin. Frail. He smelled like soap now, not smoke. I didn’t know if he’d stay clean. I didn’t know if he’d gamble again. He was trying — the flyer, the sober house smell, the tears when I told him I’d almost died. That was new. Real

But that was up to him.

My life was up to me.

Damien was waiting at the bottom of the steps. He didn’t come in. Said it was “father-daughter business.” Said he’d wait as long as it took.

He looked up when he heard the door. The sun was setting behind him and for a second he was just a man, not a Voss. Just mine.

“How was it?” he asked. No demand. No claim. Just care.

“Good,” I said. “Hard. Good.” I took his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Home. His eyebrows lifted a fraction. That was all. But I saw it the relief. The victory.

The mansion felt different when we walked in. Not like a before. Like a start.

We ate dinner at the table, not in silence. He told me about a shipment he refused because “too many dangerous people was involved.” he wants to enjoy this he said. I told him my father was going to meetings, lectures about addicts. We didn’t mention the contract. It was ash now.

After, we were on the couch. My head on his shoulder. His arm around me. Safe.

“You know,” he said, casual. Too casual. “You’re only twenty-four.”

That caught me off guard. “Thanks for the math, Voss.”

“I’m serious.” He shifted so he could see my face. “You had plans before… everything. Before me.”

I did. College acceptance letters I’d burned. Dreams I’d sold.

“Accounting,” I whispered. It sounded silly now. Small.

His thumb brushed my cheek. “So do it.”

“What?” I exclaimed

“Go back. To school.” He said it like it was simple. Like he hadn’t just bought me a future. “Kessler says you’re clear. Strong enough. There’s still time, Zara. You’re only twenty-four.”

I stared at him. This man who bought a wife and got a heart attack instead.

“You’d be okay with that? Me in classes. Homework. Late nights.”

He laughed. Real. Warm. “Zara, I’d be okay with anything that makes you happy. You want to be an accountant? I’ll buy you a calculator. You want to be a doctor? I’ll buy you the hospital. You want to stay here and watch ocean documentaries forever? I’ll cancel every meeting I have.” he said to me looking sweetly at me with those gray eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” I said laughing

“I’m in love.” He shrugged. “Same thing.”

I kissed him. Because I could. Because I chose to. Because there was no contract saying I couldn’t.

When we pulled back, he had that look again. The one that said mine.

“I was thinking,” he said. “Graduation gift.”

“I haven’t even enrolled yet.”

“Early.” He reached into his pocket. Not paper this time. A small box. Velvet.

My heart stopped. “Damien…”

“Open it.”

I did.

Inside was a key. Small. Silver. Not to a car. Not to a safe.

“To what?” I breathed.

“To the building downtown. The one with the big windows. Has a nice view and the light.” He looked almost nervous. Damien Voss, nervous. “I bought it. For you. For when you’re done with school. Your own firm. Zara Voss, Ceo. Has a nice ring to it.”

Zara Voss.

Not sold. Not borrowed. Chosen.

I cried. Again. He wiped my tears with his thumb and called me a crybaby.

“You’re insane,” I told him.

“You love me,” he said.

“I do.” I said

He kissed me again. And again. Until we were breathless and the future didn’t feel like weeks anymore. It felt like forever.

Later, we were in bed. Kissing. His heartbeat I could hear wasn't steady. Mine too. Alive. Both of us.

“You happy?” he asked. Quiet. Into my hair.

Yes” I said unbuttoned his shirt and throw it aside

I thought about my father and his flyer. About remission and second chances. About a contract that became a choice. About a man who learned to love the wife he bought and a girl who learned to live for herself.

His arms running all over me. We deepened the kiss.

Outside, the city was dark. No shipping routes issues. No wars. Just lights.

And inside, there was us.

No more auctions. No more bruises. No more counting days.

Just Zara and Damien.

And a happily ever after we bled for, fought for, chose.

Together.