THE BORROWED HEART

The Terms

Point of View: Isla Corvane

I stayed still.

I remained at my threshold, one hand resting on the frame, as I observed Cole Ashford and reacted as I typically do when something terrifying occurs right before me.

I maintained my expression entirely motionless.

"I believe you've approached the incorrect door," I remarked.

She didn’t flinch. "I do not."

He appeared taller than how the television portrayed him. Wider. He donned a dark coat with rain-soaked shoulders, and his grey eyes exhibited a familiarity I had observed in doctors who understood the diagnosis before entering the room. That specific type of understanding that does not require your validation.

He owned the solution already. He just wished to see me perform it.

I answered, "I don't understand your points."

On the night of twelfth, "You were traveling along the coastal road.

His voice was soft and monotone, yet entirely assured. "You stopped your vehicle." My spouse had a conversation with you. "Before she drove off, she handed over something to you."

I was afraid.

I remained silent.

He said, "I'm not here to make threats." And then, nearly without interruption: "Not yet."

Those two words struck me like icy water.

“Still not.”

I gazed at him for a prolonged moment. I then moved away from the door. Not due to my desire. Every instinct I possess as a nurse was indicating the same thing it signals when a situation has surpassed the moment where saying no makes a difference.

Evaluate. Adjust. Do not display any fear.

He entered.

Sure! Please provide the text you'd like me to paraphrase.

He did not take a seat.

He remained in the center of my tiny living room with the rain still evaporating from his coat, observing the surroundings like individuals observe.

My apartment was not remarkable. Used couch. A radiator that clanged. A line of medical books on a shelf over the TV. A coffee table with a mug I still needed to clean. Everything about it conveyed *this is an individual who lacks a lot* and I despised that he could perceive that. I disliked that he was able to calculate it.

"How did you discover me?" I inquired.

"You were on that street at midnight on a Tuesday," he remarked. "Few reasons exist for a woman to be on a coastal cliff road at that time." At St. Anne's, hospital shifts end at eleven-thirty on Tuesdays. "The path is the straight way back from the employee parking lot." He stopped. "You were easy to locate."

I sensed a cold sensation passing through my chest.

He had completed this prior to my knocking on his door. Before he had any idea of my appearance. He sat in a place and analyzed it like a puzzle with an answer, ultimately reaching “me.”

"What is it that you desire?" I inquired.

He finally gazed at me straight on. Not in the room. To me.

"One year," he remarked.

I remained patient.

"My business is being examined." My spouse has recently passed away. Those who seek to seize what I’ve created are monitoring my every step, anticipating my collapse. He expressed this completely without any emotion. As if he were talking about the weather. "I require a person who can accompany me at events, remain calm, and ensure there’s nothing for others to discuss." "I require silence as I handle what must be handled."

The space was extremely silent.

"You want me to act as if I’m your"

"My friend," he stated. "Zero"

I remembered the USB remained in my drawer of socks. It was kept in my memory "how his wife had placed it in my hand as if she were giving me something she could no longer hold."

"And what if I didn't take it?" I asked.

Here it is. This was the time. I could sense it nearing just like you saw a wave before it crashed.

He brought out a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and set it on my coffee table.

I looked downward.

It was a notice of debt. Nate's name written above. A figure beneath it that I memorized since it was the digit I drifted off to sleep contemplating every night.

"Your brother took a large sum of money from individuals who lack patience," Cole stated. "That debt is being handled discreetly at the moment." "If you reject my offer, it will no longer be handled discreetly by tomorrow morning."

My mouth became parched.

"That's not a threat," he stated. "It is true."

I gazed at the document. I saw Nate's name inscribed on it in simple black ink as if it had no weight at all. As if it were merely a figure and not three years of my life dedicated to working extra hours, missing meals, and convincing myself it was nearly settled.

"I see you conducted your research," I remarked.

"I consistently do."

"Amidst a sorrowful man's journey." I gazed up at him. "Your spouse passed away four days ago."

Something shifted on his face. Only for a moment. Only a hint of what could have been human. Then it vanished.

"Indeed," he replied. "She did so."

I wished to despise him for that. I was close to achieving it.

"What are the conditions?" I stated.

He presented it as one would read a commercial agreement. No heat. No tenderness. Twelve months. I would relocate to his residence within the week. I would go to gatherings, meals, and public events. I would be courteous and well-groomed and provide the media with nothing noteworthy. I won't talk about Vivienne. I wouldn't talk to reporters. I wouldn't inquire about his business.

In exchange, Nate's debt would be fully settled before I opened a single bag.

I would retain my position at the hospital. Part-time shifts organized to fit his timetable.

I would receive a monthly sum that made me feel like sitting down.

He spoke all of this while standing in the center of my living room, never raising his voice.

Upon his completion, I remarked: "I have requirements."

He stared at me as if I had just said something surprising for the first time since he entered my home.

"I mentioned the written debt settlement," I said. "Lawful." Autographed. "In my grasp before I step into your home."

"Concurred."

"My work is not up for discussion." I complete my shifts. "You operate in their vicinity."

"Concurred."

"Nobody dictates my clothing, speech, or emotions." I maintained a calm tone. "I perform before an audience." "In solitude, I am true to myself."

He remained silent for a brief period. "Concurred."

"And," I stated, "I retain everything Vivienne gifted me."

The space became completely quiet.

He stared at me for an extended period. His gray eyes revealed nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Indeed," he responded.

Excessively quick.

Way too simple.

He accepted everything except for that one, which was unique. The others paused for a moment before speaking. That one possessed nothing. As if he had made the decision prior to my saying it. As if he had been anticipating my arrival to say it.

I stored that in the section of my mind where I hold the things that don't make sense.

"I will send the documents tomorrow," he stated. He grabbed the debt notice from my coffee table and placed it back in his coat pocket. "Prepare a bag by Friday."

He strolled to the entrance.

He halted with his hand on the structure. Didn’t look back.

"She made a good choice," he whispered. "On that path." "She made a good choice."

After that, he disappeared.

I remained in my vacant living room for quite a while after the door closed.

I proceeded to my drawer of socks.

I took the USB drive out and held it in my hand, examining it. Tiny. Dark. A narrow border at the border.

He wanted to recover whatever was stored on this drive.

He consented to everything without dispute.

All except this.

I wrapped my fingers around it.

I intended to discover precisely what it contained before I entered that house.

I needed to.

Since Cole Ashford had just accepted every one of my terms with the composure of someone who was exceptionally skilled at providing people precisely what they requested.

Just before he claimed everything for himself.