BOUND BY BLOOD AND BILLIONS

"There's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark..." Julian sings, his voice completely off-key. "Julian, you're terrible at this. Please stop ruining my favorite song," I say, lightly hitting my brother's hand. "Viv, in case you forgot, I was the best male singer in my year," he replies, flashing that signature smirk. "Ugh, boys are always so annoying." Julian is driving, his fingers tapping a wild rhythm against the steering column as he shouts the lyrics. He’s awful at it, completely tone-deaf, and I'm laughing so hard my ribs hurt. The windows are down, the cool night air whipping my hair across my face. In this perfect moment, I think nothing can ever hurt us as long as we are together. Then, there's a loud, violent explosion from the front right tire. The car jerks forward. The steering wheel spins wildly in Julian's hands as the tires hit a patch of loose gravel. "Viv, hold on!" he yells, his voice tight as he tries to sound calm. Everything suddenly slows down. It feels like all my senses come alive; I hear the sickening sound of the tires struggling for grip and smell the burning rubber. Just like that, the car leaves the road, free-falling through empty air. The world flips around, and everything speeds up again. We land with a deafening crunch as the roof caves in. And then... silence. "Viv? Viv, look at me. Don't close your eyes." Julian's voice sounds wrong. I try to reach for him, but my arms feel heavy. In the sudden glow of a headlight from an approaching car, I see my brother. He is smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like always. But a dark, heavy red quickly spreads across his crisp white shirt. His fingers touch mine, cold and trembling. Then, the sharp smell of gasoline ignites. I bolt upright in bed, a strangled sob tearing from my throat, my heart racing as I grip the drenched bedsheets and clothes. My breath comes out in shallow, ragged gasps. It was just a dream. It's always just a dream. A dream that changes details every night, except for the ending. That part never changes, the part where Julian doesn’t wake up. I swing my legs over the side of my massive mattress, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I struggle to stand, my legs shaking from fear and adrenaline. The silence in my bedroom feels suffocating. "You'd think after doing this every day, I'd get used to it," I whisper to the empty room. I lean against the dresser, the silk cotton divider, anything my trembling hands can touch as I stumble toward the bathroom. I twist the faucets and fill the bathtub with scalding hot water before climbing in. I don’t even bother taking off my sweat-soaked nightwear. As I close my eyes against the steam, the nightmare flashes back—the exact look on my brother's face the last time I saw him. His bloody features. His eyes begged me to run for my life. And run I did, like the scared girl I will always be. Unable to face the crushing weight of guilt, I reach blindly over the edge of the tub. My fingers wrap around the half-empty alcohol bottle I left yesterday. I unscrew the cap and take large, desperate gulps. The liquid burns a fiery path down my throat, and almost instantly, that familiar, numbing euphoria washes over me. "Viv! Viv!" My heavy eyes flutter open slightly as the shrill voice cuts through my haze, accompanied by loud, threatening knocks on my bedroom door. "Viv, open this door right now!" I groan, the bottle sloshing in my grip as I sluggishly pull myself out of the tub. My wet clothes cling uncomfortably to my skin. I almost slip on the marble floor, catching myself on the doorframe before staggering through the bedroom to unlock it. I pull it open to reveal my mother, her posture rigid and her outfit immaculate, just like always. "Good morning, Mother," I slur, my eyelids drooping. "I'm sure even Grandma can hear you from all the way in Laos." The heavy smell of alcohol rolls off my breath, filling the hallway. My mother, Hillary, recoils, her perfectly manicured hands flying to her chest. "Oh, goodness! Are you drunk this early? Again?!" Before I can offer a sarcastic reply, her expression shifts from disgust to sheer panic. "Clean yourself up immediately," she snaps, her voice shaking with a fear I've never heard before. "Our family empire is on the brink of ruin. We have one option left... accepting the proposal from Alistair Sterling." The name hits me like a blow, a low ringing in my ear that makes the numbness from the alcohol vanish, replaced by anger and a deep hatred that warms my blood. I clench my hands, unsure if I want to trash the room and scream at my mother, or if I want to throw up at such a disgusting name. What does she mean by us being on the edge of ruin? "Alistair Sterling?" My voice barely rises above a whisper. "You can't be serious, Mother." "I am serious, Vivienne," Hillary snaps, stepping fully into my room. She doesn't see the empty bottles scattered around, refusing to acknowledge my grief. All she sees is the mess I'm making of her perfect home. "His lawyers contacted your father this morning. An alliance. A convenient marriage to merge our assets and improve his public image." "Improve his image?" I bark out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounds more like a sob. "He doesn't need a wife for PR. He needs jail time!" "Keep your voice down!" she hisses, glancing toward the hallway as if the paparazzi are already inside. "That was never proven, and you know it. It was a tragic accident." "Julian is dead because of him!" I scream, the words cutting her off. The room spins from the combination of my hangover and her audacity. "Your only son is dead because of him! He forced Julian off that road! He ran his car into the ditch, and now you want me to put on a white dress and smile for him?" Hillary's body goes rigid, her jaw clenching so tightly I can see the muscles twitch beneath her skin. "I want you to save this family," she says, lowering her voice. "Save us from what, exactly? Being slightly less rich? "From federal prison, Vivienne!" The silence that follows is deafening. I freeze, staring at her. "What did you just say?" Hillary rubs her temples, suddenly looking ten years older. "The bank is calling in the loans. The offshore accounts are frozen. Your father has been... moving money. Illegally. For months, trying to fix the gaps Julian's death left in the company. By Friday, the estate will be seized, and your father will be charged with embezzlement." I step back, my legs hitting the edge of the mattress. Billions of dollars. An entire legacy built over six generations is about to vanish. "Do you think this lifestyle pays for itself? By Friday, we will have nothing left." She steps closer, her perfectly manicured finger pointing at my chest. "You've played the tragic party girl for seven years. You have dragged our legacy through the mud with your little stunts. Now, Alistair is offering to erase our debts and keep your father out of prison. The terms are simple. No scandals. No other men. You will do this, Vivienne, or we will be completely ruined." I stare at the woman who raised me, realizing I don't know her at all. She is willing to sell me to the devil just to keep the chandeliers. "I'd rather be ruined. I’d rather we all be damned to hell," I spit, pushing past her. I grab the first coat I see draped over my armchair and throw it over my damp, alcohol-stained clothes. I don't care that my hair is a wet mess. I don’t care that I’m trembling. I just need to get out of this suffocating house before I choke on the Sterling name.