Contract Of Betrayal

Chapter One Sophia’s POV "Watch where you are going!" I yell with every fragment of my being when I bump into a brick wall. The cup of coffee in my hand spills all over my dress, and I huff in frustration. This was supposed to keep me awake through the night. “I should be telling you that.” He steps back and regards me with a pair of piercing gray eyes. “You had your eyes on your phone and your nose buried in your cup.” “What?” I shake my head disbelievingly. Nestled in his hands is a phone I know I will never be able to afford in this lifetime, but that is beside the point. He was on his phone, with his forehead furrowed in confusion. Now, all of a sudden, it is my fault. The coffee burns where it meets my skin, and it just gets me even more livid. “I can’t believe this!” I sigh exasperatedly, shaking my head. “I was supposed to have this coffee overnight.” The stranger pauses and angles his head. “You are one of them, aren’t you?” My face scrunches up in a frown. What the hell is he talking about? “Fine,” he sighs. Sliding a hand into his pocket, he retrieves a card and tosses it in my direction. “There. Send your dry cleaning bill to my company. My PA will get back to you. If that is all….” I bring the card up to my vision. Saint Clair. I have heard of the company before, like a dull murmur spoken behind walls. Tossing the card back at him, I take a slow step forward, glaring daggers at him. “I don’t know what you are used to, but where I am from, when you make a mistake, you f*****g apologize rather than throw your wealth around. Be sure to remember that when next you try something like this.” Leaning away from him, I toss the empty cup at his feet and saunter away, flagging a bus. Those piercing gray eyes stay with me until I arrive at the dingy little apartment I share with my parents. “I’m home!” I call as I shrug out of my coat, putting it up on the hanger. “Mom? Dad?” My feet halt suddenly when no one calls back to me. Strange. Mum practically has nowhere to go. She is always at home after losing her job years ago because the company had to let go of some people. And Dad got back yesterday with a headache. He said he was going to be home today. Lying my art supplies on the floor, I saunter further into the living room, taking in the empty space. The mismatched furniture reaches out to me like an old joke, and the worn-out table covers tingle my senses. “Mom?” Crossing the space, I move into the kitchen. Nothing. It takes a few minutes to cover the entire house. My parents are nowhere to be found. Returning to the living room, I retrieve my phone from my bag and call my mom. “Mom, what is going on? Where are you?” “Sophia,” she cries into the phone. “Sophia, oh my God! Thank God you called.” My heart stops. “What is happening? How is Dad? Did he…” In the past year, my father has had three heart attacks, and the doctor has warned that he cannot have another. It is the reason he has to take it slow. At the slightest sign of stress, we make him stay at home. But my mother responds with something else entirely. “We are in the police station,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “They barged into our home and took your father. I have no idea what is going on, Sophia. They said….” “They said what, Mom?” I ask as I grab my bag again, leaving the art supplies on the floor. My coat comes off the hanger and I shrug it on. “Mom!” “They said he stole from some family, baby, but your father says he did nothing.” "Stole?" Confusion courses through me as I move out into the sidewalk to flag down a taxi. "How is that even possible?" “I don’t know, honey.” “Stay put. I’ll be right there.” I arrive at the station in a couple of minutes, and my mom rushes out to meet me at the entrance. She looks beside herself, with her hair hastily thrown into a messy bun, and her bed covered by different pairs of shoes. “Mom,” I pull her into my arms, patting her back gently. “It’s fine. I’m here now, Mom. It’s fine.” "What is happening, Sophia?" She wails, holding on to me even tighter. "They are asking for a hundred thousand dollars to bail him out, and I…we don’t have that kind of money.” “I’ll go talk to them,” I mutter, pulling gently out of her embrace. “Come on. Let’s go in. Dad will go back home with us tonight. I promise.” My mom nods and walks with me into the station. The busy hum of cops moving about the space makes me sick. I hate coming in here because I know it is never good for people like us. "Good evening," I murmur, approaching the officer on sit. "I am here to see my father. Mr. Wells." The officer's eyes stray to look at my mother standing behind me, before he brings his attention back to me. "I'm sorry, Miss, but you cannot see him." “Why?” "I already told your mother. Bring the money, and we will get him out." “Where do you want us to see that kind of money?” I question exasperatedly. “I am just a struggling artist, and my parents haven’t made money in years.” “Well, your father should have taken that into consideration before stealing from such a wealthy family. He only has himself to blame.” Something snaps inside of me. “My father does not steal!” I yell, my hair bobbing all around me. The silence that follows is loud. I feel their eyes on me, searching, wondering. “Help me,” I whisper, reaching for his hands. “Please.” He pushes his hands to the other side of the counter. His lips purse in a grim line. “Maybe you can talk to the family he stole from.” “Which family is it?” “The Blackwoods.” The Blackwoods. Why does that name sound so familiar?