A Daughter For Sale

Father’s eyes flickered with irritation the moment Andrew spoke. His voice was calm, but it carried the arrogance of a man who thought power was his birthright.

“I’m not your lifeline,” Andrew said, his smile curving like something wicked. “I’m your future. Without me, you don’t just fall, you vanish.”

The air stiffened for some seconds, I caught the shift in Father’s face and that knowing, annoying, and angry glint that came before his temper. He straightened his shoulders, his knuckles whitened around the glass. For a moment, the mask slipped, and I saw raw fury flicker beneath the exhaustion. Then, with a bitter smile, he. raised his drink.

“God willing. Let’s raise our glass for the future then,” he said.

The click of glasses rang hollow, like bones knocking together.

When dinner ended, Uncle Luke left with his usual calm grace, but Andrew lingered. He still wore that smug smile, the one that always made my skin crawl. His hand found my waist, claiming it. He leaned close, his breath too familiar.

“So, about your birthday tomorrow…” he murmured, his tone suggestive.

My mother beamed at him like he was a lifeline, pushing me silently with her eyes, reminding me of the role I was supposed to play- the dutiful daughter, the loving fiancé. Pretending felt like choking. Every second under his hand was another second of quiet suffocation.

I escaped myself as soon as his hand left my waist as he was about to leave. I retreated to my room. My chest loosened once I was alone, and my eyes went to the sketch lying on my desk.

I couldn’t get his face out of my head. I bumped into him last week, just one glance, yet it felt like his features had been carved into my memory. The sharp jawline, eyes that carried a weight I couldn’t name. The more I stared, the deeper I fell even though I didn’t even know his name.

Thirst burned in my throat, so I set the sketch aside and slipped downstairs for milk. The house was still, but on my way back, voices broke the quiet. Mother’s and Father’s—sharp, raw, and breaking.

“Enough! I’m already tired. Don’t put more pressure on me,” Father’s voice cracked, weary and worn thin.

“What are you going to do other than accept Andrew’s offer?” Mother’s tone lashed through the hallway, trembling with fury. “What is going through your brain, Richard? Answer me. We are on the threshold of bankruptcy.”

Her anger filled the house, louder than I’d ever heard it.

“I didn’t understand the reason for your fondness. Sign the fucking contract,” she yelled, the loudness in her voice caused my body to freeze just outside of their door.

“You let everything slip until the complaint is on the verge of ruin and now you expect miracles?”

I held my breath. The weight of her words pressed into my chest, each one like a stone thrown at Father.

But then Father’s chair scraped the floor. “Look, I am saying this for your convenience,” mother said, her voice cool and overwhelmed with fear then pressed again. “You don’t have any other choice.”

“Luke is no longer supporting me from now on Vivian. And are you going to keep trusting that arrogant Andrew? He was mocking me at dinner.”

“Yes,” she whispered, steady but cold. “You are forced to trust Andrew, and we don’t have any other choice,” she continued. “We are going to hold on to Andrew’s hand that he is offering. If we don’t want to get ruined.”

“Father’s voice grew louder, angry. “So, you want to let him strip us bare? He’s demanding seventy percent of the company! Seventy! You’re offering him everything we built.”

“Yes, I know.”

Her calmness scared me more than her anger.

“So, don't think I'm a fool, I can see it all. I want you to quit all your plans. Quit what you are doing with Irene! Don’t force or push my daughter into this madness, is that clear?” He smirked, then a floorboard creaked. Someone was coming. I melted back into the shadows, the glass still shaking in my hand.