CHAPTER FIVE- The offer

                                    |Ever|

"Sweetie, you've barely touched your food," Dad peers over his newspaper.

"Huh?" The sound makes me jump—my phone slips, clattering against the plate.

I fumble for it, my cheeks heating. "I, uh, I don't really have much appetite, Dad."

"You've barely eaten in two days." He lowers the paper, his eyes tracing the shadows under mine. "Your eyes are sunken. Is there something wrong?"

"No!" The words burst out too loudly. I force a brittle smile. "I mean, no. Just... that time of the month."

He doesn't look away. The smile on my lips feels like it's cracking. I back away awkwardly, grabbing my plate to retreat to the kitchen.

When I return, Dad's eyes are still on me, and it makes me uneasy.

I need a distraction. Now.

"Hey, Dad," an idea forms, my hands drifting to my abdomen."I can't find the painkillers in the bathroom. “Where are they?"

It works. His shoulders relax, his focus shifting to my feigned pain. "Aw, sweet pea, did you check the cabinets? I saw them there recently."

"Oh, that helps a lot. I'll take one now," I reply, a little eager, my voice slightly robotic than intended.

I practically flee up the stairs, closing my door before I finally exhale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I plop on my bed. That was a close one. But how long can I keep this away from him?

He might find out before it dies down, and that's my biggest concern.

A ping from my phone sounds, and I snatch it from the bed, my hands trembling. Another stupid account is analyzing my post.

My stomach clenches as I read.

"Ol' girl is milking this for sure! I must confess her attention-seeking game is top-notch!"

"True! I bet she wants money too!"

Another comment jumps in, just as cruel.

I scroll, finding a few positive comments. I click 'like' on one before dropping my phone.

I take a sharp breath, but it doesn't reach my lungs. I know I should ignore the hate, but they fucking get to me.

Almost everyone thinks the worst of me. If only I could prove that the fucking perverted bastard did it.

I have to stand my ground. Yet, at the same time, I hate to be the center of attention.

The attention suffocates me. After years of fighting to rebuild my confidence, it feels like I'm slipping again.

Sighing, I lean back into my bed. My nerves buzz painfully.

What if I made the wrong decision? What if he finally sues? I can't afford a lawyer. Would I ever get to leave this house without having to look over my shoulder?

Thankfully, no one has shown up since the brick through my window. But what if the worst is yet to come?

A cold sweat trickles down my back, and I shudder.

My phone pings again, and my hands move before I can think.

A message pops up, and I click on it.

"From @AmaraRossOfficial: Hi, Ever! I know these couple of days seem like hell, but I want you to know that I see you. If you ever need help, I'm here. Anything at all."

A fragile hope swells in my chest, and my eyes burn with sudden tears.

Could this be a silver li—

The doorbell cuts me off, and I hear my father's wheels scratch the ground.

My tiny spark of hope sniffs out. I dart out through my room, my first, terrifying thought: The cops.

But it's Aida who appears in the doorway, and the tightness in my chest softens. The breath I was holding rushes out of me.

"Sweetie, Aida is here!" Dad calls.

"Send her up, please."

Minutes later, my door opens, and she walks in.

Before I can say a single word, she squeezes me into a hug.

I want to be mad at her. I want to yell at her. The memory of her words from the night of the party is still fresh in my mind.

My body stays stiff, but my heart caves, and hot tears spill onto her shoulder.

She holds me, and seconds later, I can hear her silent sobs too.

We stand there until the buzzing from my phone forces us apart.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick.

The voice barely reaches me through the noise in my head.

"Ever? Did you hear me at all?" Aida grips my arms, her eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"

Lines of shock, disgust, and anger blur through my face.

I can't form any words. I just handed her my phone.

She glances from me to the screen, confused. Then her eyes scan the message.

"Whoa!"

Her mouth drops open.

"Exactly!" The anger gives me back my voice. "The fucking audacity! What does he take me for?"

I press my palms against my temples as if I could push the tension out. "He knows he's guilty, so he wants to silence me! He thinks he can slap a price on the trauma!"

Aida is silent. I glance at her. "What?" My brows arch. "Don't tell me you believe this fucking trash? It's a PR stunt and an obvious bribe to shut me up."

Aida opens her mouth to say something, but I don't let her.

"Ever, listen—"

"Here, lemme read it out for you to understand," I snap, snatching the phone back. My voice is tight as I recite the PR jargon.

"We acknowledge Ms. Jones' allegations and remain committed to resolving this matter privately."

I pause.

"A compensation package of... $500,000 has been offered as a gesture of goodwill and to prevent further distress... for both parties. We respectfully request that Ms. Jones cease... public commentary to allow for a discreet and amicable conclusion."

Her gaze softens. "Ever, I know you're hurt. But—"

"You're on his side! Was this why you came? Did you know about this?" My brows quirk.

Aida sighs, a sound of pure exhaustion, and I scoff.

"Ever, look at me, please." She takes my hands, her voice dropping, "After the party... what I said was terrible. I was scared, but I'm even more scared now."

She pauses for a second, staring into my eyes.

Then she continues.

"I'm not excusing his behavior, but you have to be rational about this. This isn't a Hollywood movie character; this is Thomas Knights, and he doesn't play fair."

I look away, folding my arms.

"Yes, he groped you. I believe you." Her voice cracks. "I want the best for you, but let's be rational," Aida grips my shoulder tightly, pulling me to sit on the bed, while avoiding my gaze.

"There's no evidence to back up your claims, Ever," she says gently.

"It's your words against countless videos of physical assault on a billionaire. What if he sues? Are you willing to risk it?"

Her words are a bucket of ice water. The fiery anger dissolves, leaving a cold, sharp ache in its place.

Aida might be right. Would I survive this if I take him head-on in court?

Aida notices my wavering stance as she presses on.

"It's $500,000, Ever," she presses, her voice gentle but insistent. "This could help pay off the mortgage and your father's medical bills, too."

She sighs. "Do you know how long we've prayed for relief? Half a million dollars isn't a joke."

Aida's right. The numbers echo.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

I imagine the stack of medical bills downstairs shrinking to nothing.

The constant, grinding worry in my father's eyes... vanishing. The lightness on my shoulders is so seductive.

It feels like a hot water bath in winter. All I have to do is stop fighting.

"So," my voice is tight, raw. "What do I say?"

Aida hands me my phone. "Write them an email. Tell them you'll accept."

The phone feels like a brick in my hands. My fingers feel numb as I open the mail app.

I type a few words. Delete.

Type again. Delete.

Finally, a sentence string together. I read it back.

Something vile twists inside me.

Am I really admitting to a false accusation?

Are the commenters right?

Is this what it was always about? Money?

My thumb hovers over the send button. The weight of it is immense.

I almost click.

But then—

A thought crosses my mind.

Should I post this publicly?

I exit the email. Open on my socials instead.

My pulse thunders.

My fingers fly, steady, for the first time all day.

It is my truth, and I'm willing to stand by it.

My choice is clear.

"I won't be silenced!" I type and then click send.