The Debt Between Hearts

Jane Blackwood– POV The raindrops don’t just fall—they hammer down. The wipers fight a losing battle to clear the water from the windshield. Every drop slams the windscreen like a thousand tiny fists, clouding Tomville City. The smell of oil and cheap coffee hit my nose. The warm air from the heater gives out that scent. My fingers are weary from gripping the wheel for hours, but I can't slow down. The bank app keeps reminding me that Mom’s next hospital payment is long overdue. “ Hold tight, baby,” I whisper to the car, caressing the broken dashboard. The speedometer quakes at fifty like a signal telling me that it will be its last ride with me. Neon lights glow along the streets, thumping bass from clubs, and people laughing from the pedestrian walkway. I on the other hand am just trying to get through the day while everyone is living life to the fullest. Then, a car’s headlight blinds me. My heart skips a beat, and I jostle the wheel. Tires screech, and the world flips as I hit something— another car. My airbag detonates, and the force sends my head back, then forward. All I hear is the slow tick of the hazard lights and my uneven breath. Footsteps draw closer after a car door slams. Then a deep but smooth male voice cuts the chaos. “You're in trouble, young lady.” I force the crumpled door open. The rain stings my body like needles. My wet hair is glued to my face, and I forget to breathe after I look up. He's tall, covered in a brown coat that is somehow untouched by the rain. Lightning divides the sky, and I see his silver eyes. Not gray, but silver. “I—I didn’t see you coming,” I stammer. “You hardly do,” he says. “Name.” “Jane Blackwood.” “Blackwood,” he repeats in a soft voice. He looks at his Lamborghini I apparently hit. The black color still stands out despite the downpour. This is the kind of car I only see in newspapers and magazines. “ You have to come with me.” “ No way! I'll call my insurance—” “ You and your insurance company can't afford this,” he cuts in. “ And I hate to be kept waiting.” He nods his head, and a man in a tailored suit appears out of the shadiness with an umbrella in his hand. He has tattoos all over, but the one I notice is the one that covers his neck— a crescent moon made of fangs. The man who hit me—or rather, who I hit—steps closer. His scent masks that of the rain: pine, smoke, something dark and electric. It spirals in my lungs and makes me dizzy. “Who are you?” “Jacob Curry,” he responds. That is a name known by many, if not all of Tomville. Curry Corp. Billionaire. Real estate, tech, pharmaceuticals. Rumors say he’s ruthless in business and colder in bed. And somehow, I just wrecked his car. Instead of bolting, I follow him to his waiting Lambo like a spell has been cast on me. My heart hammers faster than the rain. The elevator buzzes as we ascend to the top floor. I catch our reflections in the mirrored walls—him, composed and lethal; me, soaked, and shivering. The atmosphere in the elevator remains silent until the doors open onto a penthouse office. I take a glance around. The room is bright with a floor lined with black marble. Rain lashes against the transparent windows. From here, the city looks like a glowing circuit board. “You owe me big time,” he says, setting his umbrella aside. I laugh. “The car, right? I can—” “We're not talking about the car alone here.” He scrolls down a digital tablet in his hand. “Your mother’s treatment is quite expensive, and she has a debt with the Curry Clinic.” My heart skips a beat. “How do you—” “I’m the owner of the clinic,” he says. “And your payment plan.” Nine hundred thousand dollars is the figure I see on the device he places in front of me. “That’s outrageous!” “That’s accurate,” he replies. I press a hand to my chest. “I’ll discover a way to pay—” “I have a simple idea,” he says as he stares at me. “You’ll sacrifice six months of your time working for me. You’ll act as my personal assistant and, when needed, my fiancée.” I blink. “Your fiancée?” “ My investors imagine me as a man with a stable personal life,” he replies. “You’re convenient.” I am not shocked anymore—I’m angry. “I’m not some prop for your PR stunt.” “No,” he agrees. “You’re just what I call collateral damage.” He steps closer, and with a low voice, he whispers. “I'll make your mom’s bill disappear if you say yes, but I'll make the clinic suspend her treatment in the morning if you say no.” The air between us crackles. I close my eyes and see my mum— her weak smile, her trembling hands, and the ventilator keeping her alive. I look at my feet. “How sure am I that you'll keep your word if I consent?” “I always keep my word,” he murmurs. I reach for my stylus. The screen glows as I write my name. But when the last letter arcs, warmth flares under my skin. Light pulses up my wrist. A faint sigil forms—crescent moon inside a circle—and then fades. I stumble back. “What—what was that?” “Collateral,” he repeats. “I formally welcome you now to Curry Corp, Miss Blackwood.” The office door opens as another man enters—almost the same structure as Jacob, but with lighter eyes. “Boss, security caught a rogue downstairs. Says he’s in search of a girl.” Jacob's eyes are locked on the tablet. “ Take care of it, Luca.” Luca’s nostrils flare as he takes a glance at me. He bites his jaw. “She’s got a strange smell,” he says under his breath. “She’s none of your concern,” Jacob warns. The atmosphere feels electric, like the seconds before lightning strikes. Luca leaves with a smirk that feels like trouble waiting to happen. Jacob locks eyes with me. “That's my cousin, by the way.” “I've made arrangements for your room. My driver will collect your belongings.” “You can’t just—” “I can. And I already have.” He now turns to his laptop and dismisses me without another word. I clench my jaw. The mark on my wrist gleams when lightning flashes, then fades again. I back away toward the elevator. I let out the breath I've been holding after the door closes. I feel the warmth under my wrist spreading through my veins. I watch the city through the glass walls as the elevator moves. Then, I hear a sound. A howl. Long, low, mournful. It sears through the rain and glass walls, threading right through my core. I press my palm against the elevator door. My wrist burns in response. I see my reflection in the glass, and for a moment I think I see my eyes gleam silver. Another howl cuts through, but this time, it's closer, and it ascends through the tower.