Life or Death Decisions

Sera's POV

I was fed up with the attention we were drawing outside so I opened the door and led him in.

He stood in my living room like he had every right to be there, his eyes making one slow pass around our space, the water stain on the ceiling, the secondhand couch and throw pillows all in different designs, the cushion I had stitched back together twice, the stack of bills on the counter. 

His expression did not change. He had that same look of disdain plastered on his face.

"Sit down, Seraphina."

"You're in my house," I said. "You don't get to tell me what to do. In my house."

He looked at me for a moment. Then he moved to the couch and sat down himself, adjusting his jacket like the expensive piece of clothing might catch a disease. 

I stayed by the door.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know a great deal about you." He reached into his jacket and produced a folded document, then he set it on the coffee table without opening it. "I know you are twenty seven. I know you work three freelance contracts simultaneously to keep this shithole. I know Martha has been in St. Catherine's for eleven weeks now and you're just coming from the hospital.” He glanced at my direction. “I also know that the bill Dr. Amar gave you today is totally beyond your means."

The floor felt unsteady. The man had just summarised my entire life.

"Who…who are you?"

He looked me dead in the eye. "I am Richard Hale. Your biological father."

Biological father? This clean, wealthy son of a bitch was my dad?

I laughed. I did not mean to do that in his face but I couldn't stop myself. I laughed hysterically. 

This was indeed funny.

"My father."

"Yes."

"My father who let me grow up thinking I was dead to my own family." I looked at him sitting on my worn out couch in his expensive suit. "My father who is only showing up after twenty seven years."

I crossed my arms. My heart was beating too fast but I kept my voice flat. "So, tell me ‘dad’ what brings you to my humble home?"

He opened the document on the table. "My daughter Victoria was engaged to be married. The wedding is in four days. The groom is Adrian Kingsley, CEO of Kingsley Global. The merger between his company and the Hale Group is worth several billion dollars and this marriage is a condition of that merger."

"Well, Congratulations I suppose?"

"Victoria has disappeared." He continued without emotion. "She left the country eight days ago. We have not been able to locate her."

I waited.

"The wedding cannot be postponed. The merger cannot fail." He looked up at me. "You will marry Adrian Kingsley in Victoria's place."

The room went very still.

"You will assume her identity for three years. During that time you will conduct yourself as Victoria Hale in every public and private capacity. At the end of three years, you're free to go. You will walk away with enough money to never worry about poverty again." 

He tapped the document. "Martha's treatment will also commence the morning after you sign. Full coverage. Surgery included when the time comes."

I stared at him.

"You've been watching us." My voice came out lower than I intended. "How long?"

"Long enough."

"That's not an answer."

"It is the only one I'll be giving." He straightened the document on the table like he was tidying a desk. "We've kept track of you over the years. It was a precaution. Nothing more."

A precaution. He had eyes on me my entire life, knew about Martha's illness, knew about the hospital, knew about the bill I had received this very morning, and he called it a precaution. 

I thought about every ordinary day I had lived in this apartment, making tea, doing laundry, sitting with my cracked laptop, living by scraps… and the idea that someone, someone this wealthy, not to mention my biological father! had been watching all of it. My stomach turned.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be a woman I have never even met, marry a man I don't know. Live a lie for three years."

"In summary, yes."

"And you think I would agree to this? "

"I think you are twenty-seven years old, a full adult, practical enough to understand your options."

I walked to the door and opened it.

"Get out."

He did not move immediately. He looked at me from the couch with that same disdainful expression I felt like slapping off his face.

Then he stood. Smoothed his jacket, picked up the document from the table, folded it once and slid it back into his breast pocket.

He walked toward the door and stopped two feet from me.

"What you do not understand," he said quietly, "is that you have no choice."

I frowned. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I could make you disappear." His voice did not rise. For all he cared, he was just delivering a message. "Martha too. Just like the last time. And no one would ever look for you. Either of you."

My hand tightened on the door handle.

He held my gaze for one more second. Then he stepped past me into the hallway, his cologne drifting back through the open door, and without turning around he said,

"You have forty-eight hours to reconsider."