Billionaire Redemption

Chapter 8

Ayra’s POV

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The evening air softened as I walked home. The event site faded behind me, replaced by the familiar quiet of Phoenicia’s back streets. My leg hurt, each step a reminder of survival but I didn’t mind.

When I reached home, I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I unlocked the door. Silence. No footsteps in the hallway. No raised voices in the living room. Dad and Marla were nowhere to be heard or maybe they weren’t home.

I smiled.

I locked the door behind me, leaned against it for a moment. Then I went to the living room, grabbed a bottle of water, made myself a small snack. Then I headed to my room, sat on my bed, the phone still warm from earlier.

And for the first time in a long time…

I didn’t feel hopeless.

Because I was seen.

And maybe, just maybe… I was no longer invisible.

**

I woke to a strange stillness… until I heard it. That sound I feared the most, footsteps, creaking up the wooden staircase.

Not just any footsteps.

His.

My Dad.

My heart thundered in my chest, and instinct took over. I bolted upright, ignoring the dull throb in my thigh, and staggered toward the door. My fingers shook violently as I turned the key.

Click. Locked.

I backed away, breath hitching in my throat. I stood there, frozen.

And then. His voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

“Heard my steps and you locked the door?”

Low. Cold. Laced with venom.

“How long, bastard?” he spat the words like acid. “You’d better stay there, cause the day I see your face, I’ll give you an incurable mark and sell you to the oldest being in Phoenicia. Mark my word.”

My knees buckled slightly.

His footsteps retreated slowly, but his threat echoed louder than the steps. Louder than my heartbeat. Louder than the scream building in my chest that I refused to let out.

I didn’t move.

Not until everything went silent again.

Then a single tear escaped, hot, humbling. It slid down my cheek and dropped to the floor.

Why?

Why me?

I turned slowly and limped to my bed, my hand pressing against the wall for balance. I sat by the window, cracked it open, and rested my chin on my knees. Breathing in, then out. Trying to steady my shaking hands.

That’s when I saw it.

A car.

Brand new. Sleek black. Shiny like it had just rolled off a dealership floor.

I frowned.

Dad doesn’t own a car. He hated anything that required responsibility or maintenance, he barely maintained us.

I leaned closer.

Then, the door opened.

And Marla stepped out, with some odd looking man, about three of them.

Marla, In a tight dress, her heels clicking confidently against the concrete. She flipped her hair and started toward the house with her usual self-importance.

Then, she stopped.

And looked up.

Directly at me.

My heart jumped.

Her lips curved into a crooked, knowing smirk. Then she slowly lifted her hand and flashed me her middle finger like it was some kind of crown.

I clenched the window frame.

She turned and walked inside like nothing happened.

I slammed the window shut, lips trembling, my breath caught in my chest.

What now? What are they planning?

Do they really want to sell me? Who bought that car? Did she sleep with someone for it? And who were those men?

I could barely think straight. My mind raced with twisted possibilities.

Then the thought crashed down on me like a collapsing building.

Final year exams.

They start next week.

I shot upright, fear crawling up my spine.

How do I go to school?

What if he sees me leave?

I thought about his voice, the rage behind it. The violence in his words. “The day I see your face...”

Another sob slipped out. Silent. Broken.

I crawled back onto the bed, curling into myself, arms wrapped around my knees. My phone buzzed, but I ignored it. The world felt too loud. Too cruel.

How do I make it out of this house alive? How do I write that exam without risking everything?

**

The night had a different kind of silence.

Not the soft, comforting kind. No. This one felt tight, like the air was watching me. I lay propped up in bed, surrounded by books, snacks, and the dim orange glow of the lamp on my desk.

My leg, though much better, still had its moments of quiet rebellion, reminding me of the nail that had pierced through my thigh just weeks ago. The memory made my skin crawl.

I tapped the screen of my phone. The study app opened with a soft chime, flooding the display with pages of digital flashcards and practice questions. I wasn’t just focusing on one subject anymore. I was making up for all the lost time.

Calculus.

Environmental Science.

Health and Human Biology.

Statistical Reasoning.

Ethics and Social Justice.

Literary Interpretation and Critical Thinking.

Astrophysics, for the curiosity.

My final-year exams were a week away, and while my classmates were attending review classes, group sessions, and tutorials, I was here, locked in, hiding, surviving.

I took a deep breath and answered a practice question. Another one. I was doing well.

Then the phone lit up unexpectedly.

Unknown Caller.

I paused. My finger hovered over the green button. I knew I shouldn’t answer it, but curiosity—stupid, reckless, curiosity—won.

“Hello?” I said softly.

Nothing. Just silence.

My brows furrowed. “Hello? Who is this?”

Still nothing. I pressed the phone closer to my ear. No static. No breathing. Just... nothing.

I pulled the phone away and stared at the screen as the call ended on its own.

Then Ping.

A text.

*I see you, Ayra. I see everything that happen, all I beg from you is time.*

I dropped the phone like it was on fire. My breath quickened. The memory of all the thriller novels I’d read came crashing in. Stories where the female lead gets random silent calls. Then the stalking starts. Then the kidnapping. Then—

“No,” I told myself, shaking my head, “Ayra, stop it. This isn’t a book. This is real life. It’s probably someone messing with you.” My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore—too shaky, too thin.

Still... I picked up the phone again and dialed the number back.

Switched off.

Of course it was.

I placed the phone down and pressed my back to the headboard, knees drawn slightly up. I could feel the shadows dancing in the corners of the room. The lamp flickered just once. I blinked, and it steadied. But my nerves didn’t.

Then just when I thought things had calmed down—

BANG!

I jolted, my whole body reacting before my brain did. Someone had hit the door. Hard.

“Ayra!” Marla’s voice rang through. “Mama Tee is here to see you. Open up!”

My hand instinctively reached for the keys I always kept close. But I didn’t move. I remembered Dad’s words too clearly, the way his voice dripped with venom.

*The day I see your face, I’ll leave you with an incurable mark and sell you to the oldest being in Phoenicia. Mark my word.*

He wasn’t bluffing. I could still hear him in my head. I stayed silent.

Marla kicked the door. “Suit yourself, brat,” she muttered, and I heard her stomp away, her footsteps fading into the dark hallway.

I finally exhaled.

I stared at the door for a while longer, waiting to be sure no one else was lingering. Then I slowly turned to grab my phone. The home screen lit up.

There he was.

Leon Kael.

His photo, my wallpaper. He was wearing a charcoal grey turtleneck and a black overcoat, his hair tousled just a little, those piercing eyes seeming to see right through me.

The word *Hope* hovered above the picture in elegant white script. I’d added it myself. Because sometimes, when I looked at him, hope was all I had.

I touched the screen softly, tracing his jawline with the pad of my thumb.

“You’re not real,” I whispered. “Not to me. Not in my world. But sometimes... it’s easier to pretend you are.”

He had no idea who I was. But he represented something no one in this house ever gave me, possibility. Distance. Freedom.

My chest tightened, and I pressed the phone against my heart. I could hear the hum of the streetlights outside. The ticking of the old wall clock. I looked up at the ceiling and then around the room. Everything looked okay. Normal.

But normal doesn’t exist when your home feels like a cage. When the people who are supposed to protect you would rather see you suffer.

I slid down the bed, wrapping the duvet tighter around me. The air was getting colder. And darker.

Nyctophobia wasn’t about shadows.

It was about the memories the dark brought. The helplessness. The fear of hearing someone breathing behind your door.

Still, I stayed awake. Studying. Surviving.

I will get out of here. One day.

And maybe, just maybe, KaelCorp will be my knigh in shining Armani.