The Debt Collector's Daughter

The thing about owing fifty million dollars to the wrong kind of people is that they don't send collection notices. They send men in expensive suits who smell like old money and fresh threats. I knew something was wrong the moment I walked into my father's office and saw him, really saw him, for the first time in three weeks. Gerald Marlowe sat behind his mahogany desk like a king who'd just realized his kingdom was burning, his normally ruddy face the color of spoiled milk. His hands shook as he poured whiskey into a crystal tumbler, missing twice before the amber liquid found its mark. "Elena." His voice cracked on my name. "Sit down." I didn't sit. I'd learned years ago that sitting meant staying, and staying meant getting pulled into whatever fresh disaster my father had created. Instead, I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe of his downtown office, the one he'd mortgaged twice to keep up appearances. "I have a shift at Murphy's in an hour," I said. "What do you want?" The museum job paid for my tiny studio apartment. The bartending gig kept my half-sisters, Rosie and Jade, in their private school. Between the two, I had exactly forty-seven dollars in my checking account and a credit card I was too afraid to use. My father drained the whiskey in one swallow. "I need you to do something for me." "No." The answer was automatic, honed by twenty-four years of watching Gerald Marlowe destroy everything he touched. My mother. His business. Whatever dignity our family name once held. "Elena, please" "I said no." I pushed off the doorframe. "Rosie needs new glasses, and Jade's tuition is due next week. I don't have time for whatever scheme you're running." "It's not a scheme." His voice dropped to something that might have been shame if my father were capable of it. "It's a debt." I should have left. Should have walked out of that office and never looked back. But something in his tone, a resignation I'd never heard before, made me pause. "How much?" He couldn't meet my eyes. "Fifty million." The number hung in the air like smoke. Fifty million dollars. I'd spent the last six years scraping together enough money to keep my sisters fed and in school. Fifty million might as well have been fifty billion. "Jesus Christ, Dad." I pressed my fingers to my temples where a headache was already blooming. "Who did you borrow from? A cartel?" "Worse." He reached for the whiskey bottle again. "Cassian Vex." The name meant nothing to me, but the way my father's hand trembled when he said it told me everything I needed to know. "I don't have fifty million dollars," I said slowly, like I was explaining basic math to a child. "I barely have fifty dollars. So whatever you're thinking," "He doesn't want money." My father finally looked at me, and what I saw in his eyes made my blood run cold. "He wants you." The words didn't compute. "What?" "He's willing to forgive the entire debt. All of it. The casino, the properties, everything." Gerald spoke faster now, like he could outrun the horror of what he was saying. "He'll set up trust funds for your sisters. Make sure they're taken care of for life. All you have to do is," "Stop." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Stop talking." But he didn't stop. He kept going, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "One year, Elena. Just one year as his wife, and the girls are safe. You're all safe. He has the contract drawn up already. It's very generous, actually. You'd live in his penthouse, attend some events, play the part of Mrs. Vex for a year, and then," "Are you selling me?" The question emerged very quietly, very carefully. My father flinched. "It's not like that." "Then what is it like?" I took a step toward his desk, then another. "You gambled away fifty million dollars to a man I've never heard of, and now you're offering me, your daughter as payment. What exactly would you call that?" "A solution." He stood, knocking his chair back. "I'm calling it a solution to a problem that will destroy all of us if we don't fix it. You think Vex will stop at taking the casino? He'll take everything. The house, the cars, the girls' college funds," "What college funds?" I laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. "You spent those two years ago on a 'sure thing' in Atlantic City." He had the grace to look ashamed. For about three seconds. "This is different," he insisted. "Vex isn't just some loan shark. He's a billionaire, Elena. CEO of Vex Capital. He could give you the kind of life I never could." "I don't want his life. I want my own." "Then what about your sisters? What kind of life will they have when Vex comes to collect?" My father moved around the desk, and I saw something I'd never seen before in Gerald Marlowe's eyes, actual fear. "He gave me twenty-four hours to decide. If I say no, or if you refuse, he'll destroy us. And he has the power to do it. Please, Elena. Please." I wanted to say no. Wanted to walk out of that office and let my father face the consequences of his own stupidity for once in his miserable life. But then I thought of Rosie, sixteen and brilliant, who wanted to study marine biology. Jade, fourteen and fierce, who'd just made the debate team. My half-sisters, born to my father's second wife before she'd gotten smart and left him, whom I'd been raising since I was eighteen. They deserved better than this. Better than him. Better than me, probably. "I want to meet him," I heard myself say. My father's relief was palpable. "He's waiting downstairs." Of course he was. The man in the lobby didn't look like a villain. He looked like money. Old money wrapped in new money, standing in the marble entryway of my father's failing office building like he owned it. Which, I supposed, he probably did now. Cassian Vex was tall, easily over six feet with the kind of lean, powerful build that came from discipline, not gyms. His black hair was styled precisely, his suit was definitely custom, and when he turned at the sound of my heels on marble, I saw eyes the colour of winter storms. He studied me with the detached interest of someone appraising a painting. Or a racehorse. "Miss Marlowe." His voice was surprisingly smooth, cultured. Not what I expected from a man who collected human beings as debt payment. "I'm Cassian Vex." "I know who you are." I stopped at a careful distance away, close enough to be polite, far enough to run if necessary. "My father says you want to marry me." Something flickered in those pale eyes. Amusement, maybe. "Your father has a talent for oversimplification. I'm offering a business arrangement." "A marriage is a business arrangement?" "In this case, yes." He gestured toward the building's coffee shop, empty at this hour. "Shall we discuss the terms?" I should have been terrified. Should have been running in the opposite direction from this man who spoke about marriage like a corporate merger. Instead, I was curious. We sat at a corner table, him with perfect posture, me with my arms crossed defensively. He didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Your father owes me fifty million dollars," Cassian said. "Money he borrowed and lost gambling on ventures he didn't understand. Normally, I would take his assets, liquidate them, and walk away. But in this case, I'm willing to offer an alternative." "Me." "A marriage contract," he corrected. "One year. You'll live in my penthouse, attend social functions as my wife, and maintain the appearance of a genuine relationship. In exchange, your father's debt is forgiven, and your sisters receive trust funds of five million dollars each." The number stole my breath. Ten million dollars for Rosie and Jade. They'd never have to worry about money again. "Why?" I asked. "Excuse me?" "Why me? Why this?" I leaned forward, searching his face for any hint of humanity. "You're a billionaire. You could marry anyone. Why would you want a fake wife?" For the first time, his perfect composure cracked. Just slightly. A tightening around his eyes. "I have my reasons." "Not good enough." I stood. "You want me to sell a year of my life to a stranger; I deserve to know why." "Miss Marlowe," "My name is Elena. And if you can't give me a straight answer, we're done here." I made it three steps before his voice stopped me. "Your mother." I froze. Turned slowly. Cassian Vex was standing now, his hands in his pockets, looking almost... uncertain. It was such a strange expression on that controlled face. "What about my mother?" "She worked for my family. Twenty years ago, before..." He stopped. Started again. "I need to find something she had in her possession. Something important. And I believe you're the key to finding it." My mother had died when I was four. At least, that's what my father always told me. Died in a car accident, quick and painless, nothing to be done. I had fragments of memories, red hair like mine, a soft voice singing lullabies, the smell of vanilla perfume. "My mother has been dead for twenty years," I said carefully. "Has she?" The question hung between us like a blade. "Twenty-four hours," Cassian said quietly. "Read the contract. Think about your sisters. Think about the life I'm offering you. Then decide." He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket and set it on the table. "For what it's worth," he added, "I'm not the villain in this story, Elena. But I'm not the hero either. I'm just a man trying to find the truth about what happened to his family. And unfortunately for both of us, that truth starts with yours." Then he walked away, leaving me alone with a contract that would change my life and a question that shattered everything I thought I knew. Has she? My mother was alive. I didn't know how I knew, but standing in that empty coffee shop, holding a contract that would make me Cassian Vex's wife, I knew with absolute certainty that everything my father had told me was a lie. And I had twenty-four hours to decide if I was brave enough or stupid enough to find out the truth.