Chapter 5 – The Price of Survival

 Aria's pov

Sophie is pacing when I walk through the door. Back and forth across our small living room, her phone clutched in one hand, fury radiating from every movement.

"Tell me you didn't." She whirls to face me. "Tell me you walked out of that interview."

I set my purse on the counter. My hands are still shaking from Damien's handshake, from the ice in his voice, from the contract I signed in his glass tower.

"I got the job."

"No." Sophie's face goes pale. "Aria, no."

"Sixty thousand a year." I move to the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. I fill a glass with water I don't want. "Benefits after ninety days. I start Monday."

"Are you insane?" Sophie follows me, her voice rising. "That man wants to destroy you! You saw his eyes in those articles. You know what he is."

"He's my employer." I take a sip of water. It tastes like ash. "Nothing more."

"Nothing more?" Sophie grabs my arm, forcing me to face her. "He spent eight years rebuilding an empire fueled by hatred. You think he called you in for an interview because of your resume? This is revenge, Aria. This is him putting you exactly where he wants you so he can break you piece by piece."

"I know." The admission comes out quieter than I intended.

Sophie's anger melts into something worse. Fear.

"Then why?" Her grip tightens. "Why would you do this?"

"Because I have seventeen dollars in my bank account." I pull away, setting down the glass. "Because rent is due in twelve days and I can't pay it. Because my father's medication costs three hundred dollars a month and his Parkinson's is getting worse. Because Mom is working double shifts at the hospital and she's exhausted. Because."

My voice cracks. I press my palms against the counter, breathing hard.

"Because I'm drowning, Sophie. And Damien Cross threw me a rope, even if it's attached to an anchor."

Sophie is quiet for a long moment. Then she wraps her arms around me from behind, resting her forehead against my shoulder.

"There has to be another way." Her voice is muffled. "Please. Let me help. I can lend you."

"You're already covering utilities because I can't." Shame burns through me. "I can't take more from you."

"Then we'll figure something out. Apply somewhere else. Anything else."

"I've applied to forty-three companies in six months." I turn in her arms. "No one will hire me. The moment they g****e my name, it's over. This is the only offer I've had in two years that wasn't minimum wage retail."

Sophie's eyes search mine. "He's going to hurt you."

"I know."

"And you're going anyway."

"I have to."

She pulls back, wiping her eyes. "Then I'm making you promise something."

"Sophie"

"Promise me." Her voice turns fierce. "Promise me that the second it gets too much—the second he crosses a line you can't come back from—you'll quit. Money isn't worth your soul, Aria."

I want to promise. I want to believe there's a line I won't cross, a breaking point where I'll choose myself over survival.

But we both know I'm lying when I nod. "I promise."

Sophie doesn't believe me either.

Later, I sit on my bed with my phone pressed to my ear, listening to it ring. My mother answers on the third ring.

"Aria, sweetheart." Her voice is tight, strained. "Tell me you didn't."

My stomach drops. Of course she knows why I'm calling.

"I got the job." I force the words out. "I start Monday."

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh, Aria." Her voice cracks. "After everything your father said. After you saw how terrified he was"

"Mom, please"

"That man wants to destroy us." She's crying now, trying to muffle it. "You're walking into his trap. You know that, don't you?"

"I don't have a choice." My own tears threaten. "Mom, I can't keep watching Dad's hands shake because we can't afford his medication. I can't watch you work yourself to death."

"We'll figure something out. We always do." But her voice wavers, because we both know we're barely holding on.

"I need you to trust me." I grip the phone tighter. "I'll be careful. I promise I'll be careful."

"Your father" She breaks off. "He's sleeping right now. The medication knocked him out. When he wakes up, I tell him..." She trails off, unable to finish.

"Tell him I'll be okay." My throat tightens. "Tell him I'm strong. That he raised me to survive."

"He's going to blame himself." Her voice drops to a whisper. "He's going to think this is his fault. That his mistakes are still destroying you."

Because they are. But I can't say that.

"Tell him I love him," I say instead. "And that this is my choice. Not his burden to carry.

We talk for a few more minutes her begging me to reconsider, me deflecting with reassurances I don't believe. When I hang up, I feel hollower than before.

That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. The apartment is quiet except for the distant sounds of traffic, the occasional siren. Sophie's breathing is soft and even in the next room.

I replay the interview in my mind. Damien's cold gray eyes. The way he said my name was like a curse. The calculated cruelty in every question, every pause, every movement.

*Your father's negligence killed my sixteen-year-old sister. Does that make you uncomfortable discussing it?

I press my fingers against my closed eyes, trying to block out the image of Emily Cross. Sixteen years old. Dark hair. The bright smile in that photo.

Dead because my father chose profit over safety.

I didn't kill her. I wasn't responsible for my father's decisions.

But I'll spend the rest of my life paying for them anyway.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I consider ignoring it since it's nearly eleven PM but I reach for it anyway.

An email. From Damien Cross.

My heart hammers as I open it.

Subject: Monday

Ms. Holt,

The first day is Monday, 7 AM sharp. Don't be late. I don't tolerate mediocrity—or excuses.

The dress code is business professional. You'll find the employee handbook attached. Read it. Welcome to Cross Technologies. I expect great things from you.

Damien Cross, CEO

The words are professional.

But I can feel the threat underneath every sentence. The promise of exactly what Sophie warned me about.

This isn't a job offer. It's a declaration of war. And I just agreed to show up on the battlefield unarmed.

I stare at the email until my vision blurs and the words swim together.