Bride by Debt

Ella POV

I held my brother’s hand, his eyes still heavy with sleep as we slipped through the bush behind the house. Every step was calculated, ducking beneath low branches, pressing our feet softly into the floor to swallow any sound that might blow our cover.

My father’s guards rotated every twenty minutes. I had spent enough sleepless nights memorizing their patterns to know exactly when the guard passes.

“Ella, where are we going?” Aaron breathed, his small fingers tightening around mine.

“Somewhere better than here.”

“What about Dad?” His brow creased with worry. “You know how he gets when he comes to us leaving the house.”

Somewhere behind us a guard’s radio crackled. We froze. The sound faded and I exhaled quietly, loosening the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Nothing is going to happen.” I whispered, then softened my voice. “Besides, you’ve always wanted to go to the park. Congratulations you just ruined your own surprise.”

His eyes sparkled. “We’re going to the park?”

“Really.” He whisper-shoute, beaming excitedly.

“Aaron.” I shot him a sharp look. “Do you want us to get caught?”

He pressed his lips together, suppressing a grin as we reached the road that stretched away from the house. I glanced down at the folded note in my palm money quietly lifted from my father’s study that morning. Some opportunities you created. Others you simply took.

The park was everything the house was not.

Aaron came alive the moment we stepped through the gates, dashing from one corner to another, his laughter cutting clean through the afternoon noise. Games, balloons, the smell of warm food drifting from nearby stalls. Everything his eyes landed on lit his whole face.

It had been a long time since I had seen him like this. Unburdened. Just a boy.

He dragged me by the wrist, pointing at everything, talking over himself with thrill until he suddenly went still.

“Ella.” His voice dropped. “What is that?” I turned.

A clown stood barely two feet away, grinning beneath layers of white paint, one gloved hand raised in a slow wave.

“Jesus!!” I stumbled back, hand flying to my chest before busting into laughter. “Aaron it’s a clown. He won’t hurt you.”

Aaron stared at the figure with the blank expression of someone who wasn’t really interested.

“I don’t want to play with him.” He announced quietly, stepping fully behind me.

I laughed until my stomach hurt, aware of the strangers around us turning to stare.

My phone vibrated.

I didn’t need to look to know.

Dad.

“Aaron.” I kept my voice easy. “Go grab me some water from that stall over there.” I pressed some notes into his palm and pointed him in the direction.

“Okay, don’t miss me too much.” He said teasingly, already walking away.

I waited until he was far enough. Then I answered.

My father’s voice came through immediately, sharp and without preamble.

“Ella, where the hell are you? Come home this instant. You’re dragging your brother into your nonsense again”

I ended the call.

Slipping the phone back into my pocket and went to find Aaron.

We had barely made it through two more games when I felt strange.

A tightness settled into my chest without warning. Something instinctive.

“ELLA.”

The name cracked through the park like a whip.

My heart stopped.

For one second the entire park fell silent as though the world itself recognized that voice and knew to be still. Children paused mid-run. Parents turned. The music from a nearby stall seemed to dim on its own.

I turned slowly.

My father stood at the park entrance, his dark eyes fixed on me with the kind of stillness that was somehow worse than shouting. Behind him, his guards, out in a line.

Aaron, who had been spinning in circles moments ago, was suddenly pressed against my side, his fingers curled into the fabric of my sleeve. I could feel the tremor moving through him.

“What do you take me for, Ella?”

I said nothing. I looked at Aaron, pale, trying so hard to hold himself together and I swallowed every word I had.

“Cat got your tongue?” My father’s voice dropped to something almost conversational as he closed the distance between us, hands tucked in his pockets. “Thank your stars I’m in a good mood today.” He stopped in front of me. “Be a good girl. Get in the car. Aaron, come.”

Aaron’s hand squeezed my hand for a sec. Then let go and walked toward my father with his head slightly lowered and something about that single image carved itself into my chest.

“He won’t be punished for your behavior.” My father said, already turning away.

I said nothing.

I had learned long ago that my words had a way of landing on Aaron too. So I buried them, turned from my father’s car, and walked toward the guards’ patrol vehicle instead. I would not sit beside this man I call my father. Not today. The door closed and I fixed my gaze out the window for the entire ride home, watching the city move past.

The house greeted me the way it always did.

That scent something between polished wood and cold air settled over me the moment I stepped out the car door. Twenty two years and it still felt suffocating. I exhaled, dropped onto the sitting room sofa, and calmed myself.

Then my father walked in.

He was not alone.

A woman emerged from the hallway at his side, her hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm like it was a normal thing. She was dressed carefully. Smiled weirdly. Everything about her was just so.

“Ella.” My father’s voice carried an unfamiliar warmth. “Meet Monica. Your new mother.”

The laughter rose before I could stop it.

“My mother?” I tilted my head slowly, letting my eyes move over Monica with a smile that did not reach my eye. “And who exactly approved that title?” I paused. “She doesn’t look like someone who’s ever seen the inside of a kitchen talk more of being a mother.”

The slap landed before I finished the sentence.

The sting spread across my cheek, sharp and immediate, my ear ringing in its wake.

“I will not tolerate disrespect in my own home.” My father’s voice was low and even, which was always worse than shouting. “I didn’t raise you to behave this way. Apologize. Or no food tonight.”

“I’m not a child.” I said quietly, meeting his eyes. “Starving me won’t make me accept a stranger as my mother.”

“You live under my roof.” He stepped closer. “You follow my rules. Is that understood?”

I held his gaze for a moment longer than I should have. Then I looked away, jaw tight.

“Now go to your…”

Angelus appeared in the doorway, chest heaving, something troubling clearly written on his face.

“Sir.” He caught his breath. “There is a problem.”

Through the window behind him I caught movement. A black car had pulled up to the gate. The door opened.

A man stepped out.

And something about the way he carried himself sent a slow chill down my spine.