THE DON'S PROPERTY: A Price Paid In The Dark.

Elara's pov 

The cup slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. My father's glare burned through me, his voice sharp.

“You useless thing,” he thundered. “You can't even hold a cup?”

My heart sank in despair, my eyes teary as I bent down to pick up the broken pieces.

Something in me kept resisting my calmness. “Ask,” my thoughts kept urging.

I stood up, my hands shaking slightly. “Why do you hate me this much?” I demanded, my voice cracking.

“Why can't I be treated like a human, at least?” I added as tears rolled down my cheeks.

He scoffed. “You don't know? Well, I'll tell you,” he said, moving closer to me, his face twisted in anger.

“You're a symbol of betrayal. You remind me of her,” he spat in my face.

“Destructive. Selfish. Ungrateful. Just like your stupid mother,” he added.

“I'm not her! Stop tormenting me because of what she did!” I screamed as tears streamed down my cheeks.

He leaned his face toward mine, looking straight into my eyes, and my chest tightened.

“Someone has to pay for her sins. And that someone is you” he spat.

A cold and bitter laugh escaped his lips, his face filled with satisfaction.

I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and ran to my room, slamming the door behind me.

I collapsed onto my bed, curling under my thin blanket, my hands trembling as I held it tight while trying to catch my breath.

The house was quiet for a moment, but the quietness didn’t last–the home phone let out a sharp ring.

The sudden ring almost made me jump, as it hadn't rung in a long time.

I couldn't help but pay attention to the conversation. My father's voice was tense, almost pleading.

“I need more time. Please tell the boss I'll pay. I just need more time.”

It must be the people he owed; I had seen the letters they'd been sending him. They always piled up on the table in the living room. All had the same content: “Mr. Robertson, your debt is due. Come and repay it.”

I slowly lifted my head and upper body off the bed, rubbing my hands on my face to clean any remaining trace of tears.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I crept to the door, pressing my ear against it. 

Yet, the mission was not accomplished, as I still couldn't hear the voice on the phone.

I quietly pushed the door open and moved closer to the wall separating my room from the living room, hiding myself behind it.

A cold, emotionless voice was speaking through the phone. “You’ve exceeded your time, Mr. Robertson. It’s time to pay back. The boss said to tell you that he's coming for you.”

“No! Please! Tell him I'll get him the money! Please don’t come for me!”

The call dropped while he was still pleading.

His hands were shaking as he put back the phone. He looked really scared.

My eyes widened in surprise, but I didn’t make any sound, as that would make things worse—if my father noticed that I'd been eavesdropping.

I crept back to my room, sitting at the edge of my bed.

It was obvious. My father was in trouble. It wasn’t just his problem—it was mine too. My mind was restless, as I knew that whatever affected him would affect me, too.

Minutes later, the phone beeped again; my heartbeat accelerated.

I heaved a sigh of relief as I realized it was my father who was dialing a number this time.

“Mike, it’s been a while,” he said, desperation lacing his voice.

“I need a loan,” he added.

There was a pause.

“I've made mistakes. I was just… trying to win her back,” he said, his voice cracking.

He was talking about my mother. He just couldn't get over the feeling of her betrayal; the memory seemed to dwell with him each day.

He sighed. “I was just left with debt, regret, and some useless kid.”

His words cut deep into my heart. It felt like I'd been stabbed in the chest.

I fell to the bed and curled on it.

I’d heard the word “useless” often, but it hurt more this time.

I dozed off to sleep after throwing a pity party for myself.

---

The next morning, I got out of bed, still feeling the weight of his words from the night before.

As I washed the dishes, my father walked out of his room. He looked worn out: his face pale, his eyes red. One could easily tell that he hadn't slept at all throughout the night.

I followed him with my eyes as he made his way to the living room and started walking around it, mumbling to himself.

I kept thinking about the phone call from last night. They were coming. For him. For us.

I concentrated on cleaning and scrubbing the dishes a little harder than necessary.

He paused and looked my way. His serious gaze made me feel uneasy.

“You’d better be ready to leave when I get back,” he said, his voice low but threatening.

“I won’t give you any warnings, and I won’t wait. And you will do exactly as I say, or there will be consequences.”

My father's words were a bit confusing, but they got me worried.

After washing the dishes, I retreated to my room and sat on the edge of my bed still troubled by my father's words: “If he comes back, we will leave.”

But where would we go? His family would never accept me. I was a typical proof of betrayal to them.

I felt confused and didn’t want to leave; I had finally found some peace in this familiar place.

I was scared of what might happen if my father got worse in a new environment.

As I was still thinking, he exploded through the front door, rushing inside my room, his eyes filled with fear and panic.

“Let’s go, now!” he yelled with all seriousness.

“No! I am not going anywhere with you! Leave me alone here; I can take care of myself,” I added, determination on my face.

“It’s not like you care what happens to me. You can leave alone!”

He seemed unwilling to engage in any argument, instead, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

I struggled to pull my hand away from his grip, but he was holding it very tight.

“Leave me alone!” I said, digging my heels into the floor.

He looked at me with blazing anger and started dragging me toward the door. I struggled and kicked, finally breaking free from his grip.

Just as my hand was freed, I felt a weight on my left cheek, and it pulled me down. I landed on the hard floor, the pain from the slap still dwelling on my face.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist again. This time, I didn’t resist; this was my fate, and I accepted it.

But as he pulled me to the front door, it burst open, the iron handle falling with a clatter that echoed through the room, and then a group of rough-looking men stormed in.

“Ah-ah, Robertson,” one of them sneered. “Here you are. We’ve been looking for you, you know?”

My father froze, his face instantly turning white as he released me from his grip. I quickly moved to the side in fear.

Behind them emerged a figure, one whose presence commanded the atmosphere. The others bowed to him as he made his way to our living room, sitting on the couch.

He had on a suit with stripes and a black hat on his head, almost covering his whole face.

“You’re coming with us,” one of them growled, grabbing my father’s arm.

But before he could take a step, my father turned to me, and our eyes met. “Wait! Perhaps I can pay with something else other than money… sir,” he said, desperation in his eyes.

“What could be more valuable than money, Mr. Robertson?” one of them asked in a cold voice.

“Her!” my father exclaimed, pointing to me. “Take her,” he added.

I froze, my eyes almost popping out of their sockets. What!?

One of the men sighed. “She clearly is useless for you to send her away like a thing,” he said, giving me a disapproving glance.

“You can sell her as a slave or something. She is perfect at doing chores,” my father responded, his voice cracking.

Before he could say anything else, the figure seated on our couch raised his palm and signaled to bring my father to him.

One of them grabbed my father, dragging him toward the figure—their boss. My father was made to kneel before him.

He was offered a cigarette, his eyes narrowing slightly as it was lit.

He looked at my father with a serious expression. My father turned to me, his eyes filled with terror.

“You’ve had several chances to settle your debt, Mr. Robertson, but it seems you’ve been unable to do so.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” my father said with a trembling voice.

The figure waved off his explanation with a slight smile.

The atmosphere in the room felt intense, and I sensed it all around us.

His gaze shifted to me, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t dare to look at his face; I fixed my gaze on the floor, my pulse pounding in my ears as he scanned me with his eyes.

He took one last drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as his cold eyes lingered on me.

“Take her,” he said, his voice calm but merciless.

Two men stepped forward, their boots heavy against the floor as they closed in.