003

The Price of Everything

~Nadia's POV~

The rest of the day was a blur.

Every radio station was talking about Raxon's PR disaster. Every customer who glanced at their phone....I knew they were reading about it.

I moved through my shift like a ghost, and when Mrs. Gable screamed at me for dropping a plate, I barely heard her.

None of this would have happened if I'd stayed home. If I hadn't let Anne talk me into that stupid party. If I'd just been reasonable for once in my life.

By the time I dragged myself home, I was hoping for five minutes of peace. Instead, I pushed the front door open and heard Tricia's voice slicing through the hallway.

"Scrub harder! You missed a spot right there!"

I walked into the kitchen to find my little brother on his hands and knees, tears welling in his eyes as he scrubbed the floor. He was twelve.

He should have been doing homework, or playing video games, or literally anything other than this.

"Hey." I crossed the room and pulled him to his feet. "Stand up. What's going on?"

Tricia crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. "He stole my makeup. He needs to learn his lesson."

"Tricia." My voice came out flatter than I intended. "He's a child. He didn't steal your makeup."

"Whatever. He still needs to earn his keep around here."

I stared at her.

Earn his keep. Like he was a tenant. Like this was his job.

"Go to your room," I told my brother gently, squeezing his shoulder. He darted out without looking back.

I turned to the freezer and pulled it open, desperate for something...anything...to eat. I was starving. Exhausted. Running on fumes.

Empty.

The shelves were completely empty. A wave of musty, sour air hit my face.

"Where are the groceries?" I turned to Tricia, my voice rising. "I emptied my savings to fill this freezer yesterday. Yesterday."

Tricia examined her nails. "Maybe you need to work a little harder."

She strolled out of the kitchen without looking back.

I stood there, staring into the empty freezer, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. I worked myself to the bone, and they just took.

They did absolutely nothing...no jobs, no chores, no contributions...but they finished every single thing I bled for.

I wanted to cry. God, I wanted to cry.

But tears didn't pay the bills. Tears didn't keep my brother fed. Tears didn't keep my father alive.

Speaking of bills.

I walked into the living room and stopped dead.

A stack of red envelopes sat on the coffee table. Final notice stamps on all of them. Medical bills for my dad. Piled up like they'd been waiting for me.

I picked one up. The number blurred.

Another. Another number. Bigger.

I set the envelope down carefully, like it might explode.

And then, for the first time all day, the frantic ticking in my brain stopped.

Joan's offer.

'Marry my son.'

I'd run away from her like she'd suggested something obscene. And maybe it was obscene. Marrying a stranger to fix a scandal I hadn't even caused. Signing my life away to save a man who didn't want to be saved.

But.

The Boyds had money. Joan had been kind to me....warmer in five minutes than my stepmother had been in five years.

And Raxon...

I'd followed his career since his rookie season. I'd watched every game, studied every play, defended him to strangers on the internet. I knew his stats by heart. I knew his pre-game rituals.

I knew the way he tapped his stick twice before every faceoff.

But I didn't know him. Not really. I knew number seventeen. The poster on my wall. The fantasy I'd built in my head to survive the long shifts and the empty freezer and the red envelopes that never stopped coming.

I didn't need him to love me. That was a fairy tale, and I'd stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.

I just needed him not to hate me.

And I needed to save my family.

I grabbed my phone and dialed the private number before I could talk myself out of it.

Joan answered on the second ring. She didn't sound surprised. If anything, she sounded relieved.

---

The next morning, I sat in the same penthouse, wearing Anne's best dress, my hands folded in my lap to keep them from shaking.

Joan sat across from me, elegant and warm, sipping tea like this was a perfectly normal business meeting.

"I expected a mountain of paperwork," I admitted. "Rules. Conditions."

Joan smiled. "The only condition is that you show up. Everything else, we can figure out as we go." She picked up her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and set it back down.

"Check your phone, dear."

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out.

A banking alert.

I stared at the screen. And stared. And counted the zeroes again because there was no way I was reading that right.

Five million dollars.

My hand started shaking.

'Dad.'

I could clear his bills. Every single one. I could pay off the debts that had been drowning us for years. I could fill the freezer and keep it filled and my brother would never have to scrub floors again.

The tears came before I could stop them. Not because of the money. Because of everything the money meant.

"That's enough now." Joan patted my back gently, her hand warm and steady. "A driver will pick you up tomorrow morning. You'll meet Raxon officially and sign the paperwork. Does that sound manageable?"

I nodded, still crying, still squeezing my phone. "Yes. Yes, I...thank you. Thank you so much."

Joan studied me for a moment. Something flashed in her expression....something almost sad...,and then it was gone.

"Get some rest tonight," she said. "You'll need it."

---

I didn't rest.

I went straight to the hospital and cleared every single one of my dad's medical bills.

The woman at the payment desk looked at me like I'd grown a second head, but she processed the payments, and when she handed me the receipt marked PAID IN FULL, I pressed it to my chest like it was something precious.

I sat with my dad for an hour.

He was asleep...he was always asleep these days...but I held his hand and told him everything was going to be okay now.

I wasn't sure if I was telling him or myself.

Then I paid off our remaining debts. I covered my brother's school fees for the entire year. I went to the grocery store and filled two carts with everything I could think of.

Fresh vegetables.

Real meat. Snacks my brother would actually want to eat.

When I got home and filled the empty freezer until it couldn't hold another thing, there was still money left over.

More than I'd ever had in my life.

I sat on the kitchen floor, staring at my banking app, and tried to remember the last time I'd felt this kind of relief.

I couldn't.

---

By evening, I was at Anne's apartment, pacing a hole in her carpet.

"You're literally a millionaire!" Anne was practically screaming, bouncing on her bed. "This is insane! This is the best thing that's ever happened!"

"Anne, I'm panicking." I threw my hands in the air. "What am I supposed to say to him? What do I wear? I need to look like I belong in his world, and I don't...I really, really don't...."

Anne grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to stop pacing. "Breathe."

I breathed.

"Good. Now listen. You know everything about number seventeen. His plays, his stats, his pre-game rituals. You've been studying this man for years."

I opened my mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You're not some random girl who crashed a party. You're the most prepared person in that room tomorrow. So stop acting like you're not enough."

I stared at her.

"You're enough," she said firmly. "And if he can't see that, then he's an idiot and you'll take his money and live your best life anyway."

A laugh bubbled up out of me, surprised and genuine. "I love you. You know that?"

"I know." She grinned and pulled me into a tight hug. "Now let's find you something to wear."

'You know everything about number seventeen.'

I smiled, letting her drag me toward the closet.

But quietly, in the back of my mind, a small voice whispered: 'I don't know Raxon Boyd at all.'

---

The next morning, I was up before the sun.

I dressed in Anne's clothes....a simple blouse and tailored pants, nothing too flashy....and applied my makeup carefully, trying to look like someone who belonged in a penthouse conference room.

I slipped out of the house before anyone could wake up and ask questions I wasn't ready to answer.

The cab dropped me at the same luxury hotel. The same private elevator. The same breathtaking penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows and fresh flowers.

Joan was already there. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

"Oh, look at you." She clasped her hands together. "You look stunning. Raxon is going to...."

She stopped herself, like she'd thought better of whatever she was about to say.

"He'll be here soon," she said instead. "Shall we sit?"

We sat. We waited.

Minutes stretched into half an hour. Half an hour stretched into an hour. Joan kept glancing at her phone, her jaw tightening almost unnoticeably each time.

A glass of water sat untouched on the conference table...she'd poured it for him when we first sat down.

"He's coming," Joan said, catching my glance. Her voice was cold wrapped in silk. "He knows what's at stake."

Another twenty minutes passed.

I was starting to wonder if he'd decided this whole thing was a farce....when the doors finally swung open.

He walked in.

My brain short-circuited. I rose to my feet automatically, my knees doing that stupid jelly thing, and I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from stumbling.

He was even more beautiful in daylight. Messy brown hair. Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders beneath a fitted jacket.

But his eyes were tired. Red-rimmed. Like he hadn't slept.

He stopped in the doorway, looking at me with something that wasn't quite anger. Something quieter. Serious.

Then he brushed past me without a word and took the seat at the furthest corner of the table.

As far away from me as humanly possible.

I sank back into my chair. As I did, my eyes caught something on the table near his elbow. His phone, face-up. The screen was still lit.

'Shantel ❤️'

'14 Missed Calls'

He silenced it without looking.

Joan acted like nothing had happened. "Alright." She slid a thick stack of documents onto the table. "Let's get down to the details."

She walked through the clauses—public appearances, living arrangements, the narrative they'd release to the press.

Raxon stared out the window like he was planning his escape. She had to call his name three times before he'd even look at the paperwork.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was quiet. Tired.

"Why are we going over this? Just tell me where to sign."

Joan let out an awkward laugh, waving her hand.

"Nadia, sweetie, don't mind him. He's probably just had a rough practice. You know how athletes get before a big game."

He didn't have a game this week. We all knew that.

We signed.

I watched his hand move across the paper—quick, sharp strokes, like he was trying to stab through the page. The pen left grooves in the paper. Joan cheered, a bright, delighted sound that was impossible not to smile at.

Then I looked up.

He wasn't glaring at me. That would have been easier. He was just... looking. Like I was a problem he didn't know how to solve.

"Well!" Joan rose to her feet, smoothing her dress. "I'll give you two some space to talk. I know everything has been sudden, but you really should discuss the details of moving forward."

I wanted to beg her to stay. I tried to catch her eye, tried to communicate 'please don't leave me alone with him,' but she was already gone, the doors clicking shut behind her.

Silence.

Just me. And a very tired, very broken-looking Raxon Boyd.

I opened my mouth to say something..anything..but he beat me to it.

"Do you know what this cost me?"

His voice was quiet. Almost conversational. That was worse than if he'd yelled.

I swallowed. "I...."

"I was going to marry her." He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was staring at the phone on the table. At the fourteen missed calls.

"I had a ring. I had a plan. I had..." He stopped.

Shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Everything."

The word landed between us like a stone.

"I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked on the second word. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I've been trying to tell people it was a misunderstanding..."

"I don't care what you meant."

He stood up. He didn't storm toward me. He didn't tower over me. He just stood there, looking at me with something that was almost worse than hatred.

Tiredness.

"Let me make one thing clear." His voice was steady now. Not cruel. Just final. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. And I will never love you. No matter what papers we sign or what story my mother tells the press. You will never be anything to me."

He walked to the door without waiting for a response.

"Tomorrow," he said, not looking back. "The press conference. Don't be late."

The doors swung shut.

---

I sat there for a long time.

The penthouse was silent. The city glittered through the windows, ignorant. Somewhere far below, people were living their normal lives, going to normal jobs, falling in love in normal ways.

I looked at the table.

The glass of water Joan had poured for Raxon was still there. Untouched. He'd been here for over an hour and he hadn't taken a single sip.

I don't know why I did it. Maybe because I was thirsty. Maybe because I was exhausted.

Maybe because I needed something...anything....to ground me in this room where I'd just signed my life away to a man who would never love me.

I reached across the table and drank the water myself.

It was warm. It had been sitting there for nearly two hours.

I drank the whole thing.

Then I set the glass down, gathered my bag, and walked out of the penthouse without looking back.