The Billionaire contract Romance

Brooklyn London had always believed that eighteen was supposed to feel like freedom. She had imagined it differently. She imagined waking up to her mother's voice drifting through the hallway, telling her she was going to be late for school even though she hadn't been in school for years. She imagined her father pretending not to cry when he saw her in a birthday dress. She imagined cake. She imagined laughter. Instead, on the morning of her eighteenth birthday, Brooklyn stood alone in front of her mother's photograph. The woman in the frame was smiling. It was the same smile Brooklyn had spent two years trying to remember without crying. "Mom," she whispered, touching the edge of the frame. "I'm eighteen." Her voice broke. "I think you'd be proud of me." The room remained sil ent. Brooklyn swallowed and forced herself to smile. "I'm still taking care of Dad." That was a lie. Or at least, it was becoming one. Her father had changed after her mother's death. The man who used to come home with groceries and complain about traffic had become quieter, older, and increasingly absent from his own life. And after he remarried Mrs. Landon, the house changed too. There were fewer photographs of Brooklyn's mother. Fewer conversations about the past. And more locked doors. More whispered phone calls. More nights when her father sat at the dining table long after everyone else had gone to bed. Brooklyn had asked him countless times what was wrong. Every time, he gave her the same answer. "Nothing you need to worry about." So she stopped asking. Until tonight. At 9:46 p.m., Brooklyn was sitting on the edge of her bed when someone knocked. She expected her father. Instead, Mrs. Landon entered. She didn't say happy birthday. She didn't smile. She carried a thick black folder against her chest. Brooklyn immediately noticed it. "What is that?" Mrs. Landon closed the door behind her. "Come downstairs." Brooklyn frowned. "Why?" "Your father wants to speak with you." "About what?" Mrs. Landon hesitated. Then she said, "About the future." Something about the way she said it made Brooklyn uneasy. She followed her downstairs. Her father was sitting in the living room. He looked terrible. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were red. His hands were clasped so tightly that his knuckles had turned pale. Brooklyn stopped at the doorway. "Dad?" He looked up. For a moment, he couldn't meet her eyes. That frightened her more than anything else. She walked toward him. "What's happened?" "I'm fine." "No, you're not." "I'm just tired." "You've been 'tired' for months." Mrs. Landon placed the black folder on the table. Brooklyn looked at it. Then at her father. "What is going on?" Her father stood, walked toward her, and opened his arms. Brooklyn stared at him. He hadn't hugged her properly in months. She stepped into his arms. He held her tightly. Too tightly. As if he already knew he was about to lose something. Brooklyn closed her eyes. "Dad..." "I'm sorry." She pulled back. "For what?" He looked at her. There were tears in his eyes. Brooklyn's heart sank. "Why are you crying?" He shook his head. "I should have told you sooner." "Told me what?" He sat down. Brooklyn remained standing. Mrs. Landon took the chair opposite him. Her expression was strangely calm. Her father finally spoke. "We're in debt." Brooklyn blinked. "What?" "There's been a financial problem." "What kind of financial problem?" He didn't answer. Brooklyn looked between him and Mrs. Landon. "Dad, how bad is it?" Silence. She stepped closer. "How bad?" Her father whispered, "It's over a million dollars." Brooklyn stared at him. The number didn't make sense. It was too large to belong to her family. Her family had a comfortable home. Her father had a business. They weren't wealthy, but they weren't poor. "How?" Her father rubbed his face. "There were loans." "What loans?" "Business loans." "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you were still grieving." "I'm eighteen now." "I know." "So why am I hearing about this now?" Her father looked away. Brooklyn's voice trembled. "How long have you known?" He didn't answer. "Dad." "A long time." Her eyes filled. "You let me believe everything was okay." "I wanted to protect you." "No." She shook her head. "You wanted to protect me from the truth." "There's a difference." "Is there?" Her father stood. "Brooklyn, I didn't know how to tell you." "You could have started with the truth." He opened his mouth, but no words came. Brooklyn wiped her tears. "Can we sell something?" Her father looked at her. "The house?" "No." "The car?" "That won't be enough." "My things?" "Brooklyn." "Then what do we do?" Mrs. Landon finally spoke. "There is a way." Brooklyn turned toward her. "What way?" Mrs. Landon glanced at her husband. He looked down. Brooklyn's stomach tightened. "What way?" Mrs. Landon slid the black folder across the table. "Someone is willing to clear the debt." Brooklyn didn't touch it. "Who?" "The Andrew family." She frowned. "I don't know them." "You don't need to." "Then why are they paying my father's debt?" Mrs. Landon looked directly into her eyes. "Because they want something." Brooklyn's fingers went cold. "What?" Nobody answered. Her father stood suddenly. "That's enough." Mrs. Landon looked at him. "You said she had to know." "I said she had to know about the debt." "She has to know everything." Brooklyn looked between them. "Know what?" Her father shook his head. "Nothing." "Dad." "Go upstairs." "No." "Brooklyn, please." She stepped closer. "I have spent two years watching you become a different person. I watched you sit alone at that table every night. I watched you stop sleeping. I watched you sell things and pretend I didn't notice." Her voice cracked. "And now you're telling me we're more than a million dollars in debt, and there is a family willing to pay it, but nobody will tell me why?" Her father lowered his head. "I'm sorry." "You keep saying that." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "But you never tell me what you're sorry for." Mrs. Landon opened the folder. Brooklyn looked down. A contract.