Bound by the Boss’s Debt

Emmanuella stayed on the floor for a long time, staring at the spot where the window met the wall. The image of Matthew laughing with those guards was burnt into her mind like a scar. It wasn’t just a bad dream. It was the absolute, crushing end of the life she thought she knew.

She had spent a year loving a man who didn’t exist. Her Matthew was the guy who forgot his keys and liked his toast burnt. The man outside was a stranger who traded secrets in the dark and moved through a world of violence as if he belonged there.

"He sold me," she whispered, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "He actually sold me."

The fear she felt for Romeo was nothing compared to the white-hot rage building in her chest for Matthew. He had sat across from her this morning. He had watched her get excited about their anniversary. He had probably been counting down the minutes until he could hand her over and save his own skin.

She stood up, wiping the dry salt of tears from her face. She was done crying. If Matthew were a shark, she couldn't afford to be a goldfish anymore. She walked to the closet Romeo had mentioned. Inside were rows of stunning silk blouses, sleek black dresses, and shoes that cost more than her car. They were all her size.

That was the most chilling part. This wasn't a snap decision. They had been watching her. They knew her measurements, her favourite colours, and her life. Every "I love you" Matthew had ever said was just part of the script.

She pulled on a simple black dress, the fabric cool and expensive. In the marble bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her jaw was tight. The soft, hopeful girl who lived in that flat was dead. A ghost stared back at her.

Exactly one hour later, a soft knock echoed. A woman in a sharp uniform stepped in, her expression polite but her eyes as hard as marbles. "It is time for dinner, Miss Emmanuella. Mr. Romeo is waiting."

Emmanuella didn't say a word. She followed the woman through endless, silent hallways. The house was a palace of gold and glass, but it felt like a mausoleum. Cameras blinked red from every corner, and guards stood at the doors like statues.

They reached the dining room, where a long table was set with silver and flickering candles. Romeo sat at the head, swirling a glass of deep red wine. He looked up, his gray eyes scanning her from head to toe.

"You look better," he said, nodding toward the chair at the opposite end. "Sit. Eat."

Emmanuella walked to the chair but didn't sit. She gripped the back of it until her knuckles turned white. "I saw him."

Romeo paused, the glass halfway to his lips. "Who?"

"Matthew", she said, her voice vibrating with ice. "I saw him at the gate. He wasn't running. He was coming home. He works for you, doesn't he?"

Romeo set the glass down slowly. He didn't even try to lie. "He did. Until he decided to steal something he couldn't afford to pay back. I told you he was a thief, Emmanuella. I just didn't specify who he stole from."

"So the breakup? The 'other woman' story?" She leaned over the table, her voice rising. "It was all a show to get me here?"

"The other woman is real," Romeo said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But the rest was a transaction. Matthew owed me a debt he couldn't pay with cash. So, he offered me information. And then, he offered me you."

Emmanuella felt a wave of nausea so strong she had to lean on the table. "Why? I'm a teacher! I don't know anything about your world!"

"You’re the only person Matthew ever let in," Romeo said, standing up and walking toward her. He moved with a terrifying grace, stopping just inches away. "He thinks you know where he hid the drive he stole from me. He thinks if I keep you here, I’ll find it and let you both go."

"I don't know about any drive!" she shouted. "He never told me anything!"

"I know," Romeo whispered. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. His fingers were cold, but his touch wasn't cruel. "I know you’re innocent. But Matthew needs to believe I’m... interrogating you. He needs to feel the pressure, so he stops playing games."

Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open. Matthew walked in, looking far too comfortable. But when he saw Emmanuella standing so close to Romeo, his smug smile faltered.

"Romeo, I’ve got the codes," Matthew said, his voice hitching. He looked at Emmanuella, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before he masked it with boredom. "I see she's finally dressed for the part."

Emmanuella didn't wait. She moved before anyone could stop her, crossing the room in three strides. She swung her hand with every ounce of rage she possessed and slapped Matthew across the face.

The crack echoed like a gunshot. Matthew’s head snapped to the side, and a bright red handprint began to bloom on his cheek.

"You coward," she hissed.

Matthew rubbed his jaw, looking more annoyed than sorry. "Get over it, Emma. This is how the world works. I did what I had to do to survive. You should be thanking me, look at this place. It’s better than that dump we lived in."

Romeo stepped up behind Emmanuella, his hand landing firmly on her shoulder. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "She is no longer yours to speak to, Matthew. You traded her to settle a debt. Now, get out before I decide your life is worth less than the codes you brought."

Matthew scowled, gave Emmanuella one last look, and retreated.

The silence that followed was heavy. Emmanuella felt herself shaking, the adrenaline fading into a cold, terrifying reality. She was a piece of property.

"What happens now?" she whispered.

Romeo turned her to face him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Now, we let him think he’s won. But tomorrow, Emmanuella, we start a new game. One Matthew isn't invited to."

He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "I’m going to teach you how to make him regret the day he ever met you."