Bought, Not Broken

Chapter 2: The Price Tag

Click.

It was such a small sound. Just a tiny metal tumbler falling into place inside a cheap brass lock. But in the suffocating silence of the cramped apartment, that simple sound hit Harper with the concussive force of a physical blow.

Her father had locked his bedroom door from the inside.

He knew she was out here. He knew what was waiting for her in the living room. And his response was to hide behind a half-inch of hollow-core wood.

Harper stood frozen in the narrow hallway. The adrenaline that had fueled her subway ride home, the intoxicating high of pouring wine over Richard Vance’s head, evaporated so fast it left her feeling lightheaded and sick. The world tilted slightly on its axis.

Slowly, she turned her head back toward the living room.

The two bodyguards—mountains of muscle packed into identical black suits—hadn't moved from her floral sofa. The larger one, a man with a thick neck and a jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow, was casually picking dirt from under his fingernails with a pocketknife. They looked entirely out of place in the shabby Bronx apartment, yet they owned the room completely.

But it was Brenda who commanded Harper’s horrified attention.

Her stepmother sat at the scratched coffee table, her long, acrylic fingernails clicking rhythmically as she counted a massive stack of hundred-dollar bills. The smell of Brenda’s cheap, overpowering vanilla perfume mixed sickeningly with the stale cigar smoke radiating from the bodyguards.

"Fifty thousand," Brenda murmured, licking her thumb and turning another bill. She finally looked up, her heavily lined eyes locking onto Harper. "Just the advance. Richard is a very generous man, Harper. Though I imagine he’s significantly less generous right now, considering his driver called ahead to tell us you threw a tantrum at the restaurant."

"A tantrum?" Harper’s voice trembled, but she forced herself to step out of the hallway and into the living room. "He handed me a prenuptial agreement, Brenda! He told me he owned me. He treated me like a piece of property he just bought at an auction."

"And didn't he?" Brenda sneered, dropping the stack of cash onto the table. "Look around you, little girl. Do you think we live in a fairy tale? Do you think your father’s gambling problem was just going to magically disappear?"

"He owed money to bookies," Harper argued, her chest heaving. "I've been working double shifts at the flower shop. I was going to help him set up a payment plan. We could have—"

"A payment plan?" The scarred bodyguard let out a low, gravelly chuckle. It was a terrifying sound.

Brenda stood up, smoothing down her tight skirt. "Your father didn't just owe money to neighborhood bookies, Harper. He got desperate. Two weeks ago, he borrowed a quarter of a million dollars from the Rossi family. And when he couldn't pay the interest, he tried to steal a shipment from their warehouse down at the docks to cover his tracks."

The blood drained from Harper’s face. The Rossi family wasn't a bank. They were a violent, unforgiving syndicate that ran the underground operations of the East Coast.

"They were going to kill him," Brenda continued, her voice cold and completely devoid of empathy. "They were going to break every bone in his body, chop him into pieces, and dump him in the Hudson River. And after they finished with him, they were coming for us. To make us work off the debt in the darkest, filthiest corners of this city until we were dead."

Harper stumbled back, hitting the wall. Her lungs couldn't draw in enough air.

"But Richard Vance found out," Brenda said, her eyes gleaming with toxic triumph. "Richard has connections. He bought the debt from the Rossis. He paid it off in full. He saved your father’s life. He saved my life. And all he asked in return was a pretty, young wife with good bone structure to parade around his country club."

"You sold me," Harper whispered. The words tasted like bile. "You actually sold me to a monster."

"I saved this family!" Brenda shrieked, taking a step toward her. "You ungrateful little brat! We put a roof over your head, we fed you, and this is how you repay us? By acting like a spoiled princess? Richard owns the debt now. If you don't marry him, he makes one phone call, and the Rossis will be back here before sunrise."

Harper couldn't look at Brenda anymore. She couldn't look at the bodyguards. She turned on her heel and lunged down the hallway, throwing herself against her father’s locked bedroom door.

She pounded her fists against the cheap wood.

"Dad!" she screamed, her voice cracking, tears finally burning the edges of her eyes. "Dad, open the door! Tell me she's lying! Tell me you didn't let them do this to me!"

Silence.

"Dad, please!" She hit the door harder, her knuckles throbbing. "He wants to lock me away! He’s a monster, Dad! You can't let them take me. We can run. We can go to the police. Just open the door!"

She pressed her ear against the wood, her heart shattering into a million jagged pieces.

For a long, agonizing moment, there was nothing. And then, she heard the shuffle of footsteps. A shadow shifted under the gap of the door.

"Dad?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Harper..." Her father’s voice was muffled, trembling, and overwhelmingly pathetic. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

"Open the door, Dad. Look at me."

"I can't," he whimpered. "Harper, please. Just... just do what Brenda says. Richard is a rich man. He'll take good care of you. You'll live in a big house. It won't be so bad."

Harper stopped breathing.

"Just help me this once, Harper," her father sobbed from the other side of the door. "If you don't marry him, they're going to kill me. Please, baby. Just do this for your old man."

Please, baby. Just do this for your old man.

Something inside Harper snapped. It wasn't a loud break. It was quiet, definitive, and irreversible. It was the sound of a daughter’s love dying.

She slowly lowered her fists. She placed her forehead against the cheap veneer of the door. The tears that had been threatening to fall simply vanished, freezing over in her tear ducts.

I mentally opened my filing cabinet, Harper thought, the internal voice returning, colder and sharper than ever before. I took out the file labeled 'Family.' I struck a match, dropped it inside, and watched it burn to ash.

She was an orphan now. She had no father. She had no home. She only had herself.

Harper pushed herself away from the door and walked slowly back into the living room. Her face was a blank, emotionless mask.

Brenda looked at her, mistaking the deadness in Harper's eyes for submission. "Are you done with your little drama?"

"I'm not marrying him, Brenda," Harper said, her voice eerily calm.

Before Harper could even blink, Brenda stepped forward and slapped her across the face. The impact was sharp and explosive. Harper’s head snapped to the side, her cheek burning with immediate, stinging heat. A metallic taste flooded her mouth where her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek.

The bodyguards chuckled.

Harper didn't touch her cheek. She slowly turned her head back to look at Brenda, her eyes utterly devoid of fear.

Brenda faltered for a fraction of a second under that dead stare, but quickly recovered her sneer. She reached down behind the sofa and pulled out a sleek, black garment bag, tossing it at Harper’s feet. It landed with a soft whoosh.

"I don't care what you want," Brenda spat, pointing a manicured finger at the bag. "That is a custom gown Richard sent over. Tomorrow night is the annual Hamptons Charity Gala. The press will be there. The elite of New York will be there."

Brenda leaned in close, her breath hot and smelling of cheap wine.

"Tomorrow night, Richard will officially announce your engagement to the world. You will put on that dress, you will walk into that ballroom, and you will smile until your face hurts. If you try to run, these two gentlemen will find you, and your father will be dead before midnight. Do we understand each other?"

Harper looked down at the black garment bag, then back up at Brenda. The white-hot clarity she had felt at the restaurant returned, crystallizing into a desperate, suicidal plan.

"Loud and clear," Harper whispered.