CHAPTER THREE: PRESSURE POINTS
1242 Words
The city was cruel when you had nothing. Its lights didn’t shine for people like me—they blinded you, mocked you, reminded you of everything you’d never have.
By the time I stepped out of Cross Enterprises, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, but my clothes still clung to me, heavy and damp. I pulled my coat tighter, clutching the folder Damien had given me beneath it as if hiding contraband.
People brushed past, umbrellas bobbing, taxis honking, the endless noise of Manhattan swallowing my thoughts. But my mind was caught in a loop, circling one man, one impossible offer.
A wife. A contract. Two days.
Damien Cross’s voice lingered like a shadow I couldn’t escape. The way he had looked at me—not like an employer, not like a stranger, but like something he had already claimed.
I shivered, though it had nothing to do with the rain.
---
My apartment building stood like a scar at the edge of the city, where the skyscrapers gave way to cracked sidewalks and flickering streetlamps. Four stories of peeling paint, broken windows, and neighbors who minded their business too well.
I took the stairs slowly, each creak echoing in the silence. My stomach twisted, heavy with dread, though I told myself I was just tired.
But when I reached the fourth floor, I froze.
A figure leaned casually against my doorframe, arms crossed. Smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers. Even before he looked up, I knew who it was.
Raymond.
My chest tightened.
He smirked when our eyes met, his teeth glinting in the dull hallway light. “Well, well. If it isn’t little Elena. Been a while.”
I forced my voice not to tremble. “I told you, I’m working on it.”
Raymond pushed off the doorframe and sauntered closer. His cologne hit me first—cheap, musky, suffocating. He was in his mid-forties, dressed in a leather jacket that smelled of smoke and stale beer, his hair slicked back, his eyes sharp with amusement.
“Working on it doesn’t pay bills,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Your mother thought the same thing. And look where that got her.”
My nails dug into the folder beneath my coat. “Don’t talk about her.”
He chuckled. “Touchy, huh? All I want is what I’m owed. And sweetheart, that clock’s been ticking for a long time.”
“I just need more time,” I whispered, hating how weak I sounded.
“You’ve had time.” His tone hardened. He jabbed his finger into my shoulder, forcing me back against the wall. My breath hitched. “What you need is money. And if you don’t have that… well, there are other ways to pay.”
His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate. My stomach turned.
“No,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “Never.”
His grin widened, cruel. “Then get me my money. Tomorrow. Or I’ll collect in another way.”
With that, he flicked his cigarette butt onto the floor, grinding it beneath his shoe, leaving behind a dark smear. Then he strolled down the hall, whistling a tune that sent shivers down my spine.
I waited until his footsteps disappeared before fumbling with my keys. My hands shook so badly I dropped them twice before I managed to unlock the door.
Inside, the apartment was dark, quiet, suffocating. I locked the door, slid the chain in place, and leaned against it, my body trembling.
I hated this place. The peeling wallpaper, the leaky faucet, the smell of mold that never left no matter how much I scrubbed. But it was all I had. And even that was slipping away.
My eyes fell on the folder as I set it on the table. Damien’s contract. Crisp, white paper. Cold, black ink. A promise and a curse.
Raymond’s voice echoed in my head: Tomorrow.
Damien’s words followed: Walk away, and your debts consume you. Or sign, and step into my world.
I buried my face in my hands, torn between fear and fury.
How had it come to this?
---
That night, sleep didn’t come. I lay awake on my lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling as water dripped steadily from the kitchen sink. Every sound in the building—footsteps above me, a baby crying down the hall, muffled music—set my nerves on edge.
I kept thinking of my mother. Her tired eyes, her fragile hand gripping mine in the hospital. “I’m sorry,” she had whispered before the machines flatlined. “I’m leaving you with so much, Ellie. I never meant to.”
She hadn’t meant for the debts to fall on me, but intention didn’t matter. The collectors hadn’t cared that I’d just buried her when they came knocking.
And now Raymond was circling like a wolf, ready to tear me apart.
I rolled onto my side, my gaze landing on the folder across the room. Damien’s contract seemed to glow faintly in the dark, a devil’s bargain whispering to me.
Sell yourself. Be his wife. Just for a year.
But what kind of man wanted that? A wife he could choose from a file, the way others might order a suit?
I remembered his eyes—storm-gray, unreadable. The way he’d said I reminded him of someone he lost. The way he had looked at me as if I was both a ghost and a prize.
Fear curled in my gut, but so did something else. Curiosity.
Damien Cross was dangerous. Everyone knew that. And yet part of me wanted to know why he had chosen me.
---
By morning, I was a mess. My eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, my body heavy. Still, I dragged myself to the diner.
The routine should have been comforting—the hiss of the griddle, the smell of frying bacon, the clatter of plates. But nothing felt normal anymore. My hands shook as I poured coffee, my mind replaying Raymond’s smirk, Damien’s offer, my mother’s ghost.
“Carter!” My manager snapped, pointing at the wrong order I’d set on the counter. “Get it together.”
I muttered an apology, correcting the mistake.
But I couldn’t get it together. Not when my entire life was unraveling thread by thread.
When my shift ended, I found myself standing outside the diner, clutching my coat tighter against the biting wind. The city moved around me—people rushing to work, taxis swerving, horns blaring—but I felt frozen in place.
I pulled the folder from my bag.
Two days. That’s what he had given me. But Raymond had given me one.
Which meant I didn’t have a choice anymore.
The words blurred before my eyes as tears pricked again. I hated that I was cornered. I hated that both men—Raymond with his threats, Damien with his shadows—had power over me.
But mostly, I hated myself for thinking Damien’s offer sounded like salvation.
At least with him, I thought bitterly, the chains might be made of gold.
I pressed the folder to my chest and whispered to the cold air, “What choice do I have?”
The city gave no answer.
But in my bones, I knew.
I was already standing at the edge of a cliff. And Damien Cross was waiting in the darkness below.
- Writer
