Chapter 5 - A Quiet Offer

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I sat on the edge of Eli’s bed and listened to his breathing. Shallow. Uneven. Like his body couldn’t decide if it wanted to keep fighting.

At 2:17 AM, Eli opened his eyes.

“Sister,” she said, voice rough. “Did you… fix it?”

I forced a smile and brushed her hair back.

“Not yet,” I said. “But I will.”

She stared at the ceiling for a long time.

“Do you think,” she said quietly, “if I wasn’t sick… you’d be happy?”

The question hit me hard because it wasn’t fair.

“You’re not a punishment,” I whispered. “You’re my reason.”

She made a weak sound that might’ve been a laugh.

“Liar,” she murmured, and went back to sleep.

I moved to the small table by the window. The city noise drifted up—jeepneys, karaoke, someone arguing like the night owed them answers.

Adrian’s contract folder sat on the table. I hadn’t opened it fully in his office. I carried it home like it could explode.

My phone was beside it, screen down.

At 3:04 AM, I flipped it over.

Jared’s messages waited like a deadline.

Please confirm attendance.

Your counsel will be present.

This is time-sensitive.

Below them, another message from the unknown number.

Don’t sign.

Bianca doesn’t lose.

Neither does Darius.

My pulse spiked.

I opened the folder anyway.

The first page was clean and clinical.

MEMORANDUM OF AGREEMENT

TERM: 12 MONTHS

PARTIES: ADRIAN VALEZCO / SAMIRA DE VERA

My name looked wrong next to his. Like a mistake the universe would punish.

I read everything slowly, the way I read medication orders.

Stipend, documented.

Healthcare assistance, documented.

Confidentiality, strict.

Media, strict.

Exit clause, clean.

Then the part that made my stomach twist.

WIFE DUTIES (PUBLIC APPEARANCES)

Schedules. Events. Photo calls. Charity dinners.

Not sex. Not romance. Not anything that belonged to my body.

Just my face. My name. My life in public.

I heard Eli cough in her sleep and felt my chest tighten.

I didn’t want my sister seeing me on a gossip page. I didn’t want her hearing nurses whisper about me. I didn’t want her thinking her sickness made me sell myself.

But I also didn’t want her to die because I was stubborn.

My phone buzzed.

A new message from Jared.

Sir Adrian approved your sister’s admission. Deposit will be covered.

Please confirm you will meet at 8:00 PM tomorrow to finalize terms.

If you decline, we will reverse the arrangement.

Reverse.

Like Eli’s bed was a reservation. Like hope was refundable.

My eyes burned.

I stared at the last line until my chest hurt.

I got up and went to the sink, turned the faucet on, and let the water run. The dorm’s kitchen light flickered. Someone in the next room laughed at a video, loud and careless. I pressed my palms to the counter and tried to breathe like I was in skills lab, counting in fours.

I’d said yes to too many things lately. Extra shifts. Late fees. “Just one more form.” Every time I told myself it was temporary. Every time the deadline moved closer.

I went back to the table and read the contract again, slower. The words didn’t change, but my brain kept trying to find a hidden clause that said *and then she dies anyway.* There wasn’t one.

I looked at the exit clause. Clean. Simple. Twelve months, then done. As if people could walk out of this clean.

My phone lit up again. Not Jared.

Unknown number.

You think he’s saving you?

He’s buying you.

My throat tightened. I typed back before I could stop myself.

Who are you?

The reply came fast.

Someone who knows what Bianca does to girls like you.

I stared at the screen. Bianca’s name felt like a hand on the back of my neck. I’d never met her, but I’d seen her on posters and articles beside Adrian, perfect smile, perfect dress, the kind of woman people defended without knowing why.

I tried to think like a nursing student again. Facts. Assessments. Risks.

If I said no: Eli stays in the line, gets weaker, and I keep fighting people who don’t care.

If I said yes: Eli gets a bed. I get dragged into a war I don’t understand. My scholarship might still die, just slower.

I turned and looked at Eli. She was curled on her side, blanket bunched around her legs. Her breathing hitched, then evened out. The sound wasn’t dramatic. It was just real.

I hated that my life could be decided by a text message and a bank transfer.

I opened my notes app and wrote two lines like a checklist.

1. Eli admitted.

2. Scholarship not terminated.

I stared at it. Then I added a third.

1. Don’t let them touch Eli.

Because that was the part that made my hands shake. Not gossip. Not dinners. Not people whispering.

If Adrian’s enemies were already watching me, Eli was the easiest way to hurt me.

I went back to the contract and looked for the part about security. There was a sentence about “reasonable protective measures.” Nothing specific. Nothing that sounded like a promise.

My eyes stung again. I wiped my face with my sleeve like a child.

“Okay,” I whispered, not to anyone. Just to the room. Just to the decision.

Then I did something I hated myself for.

I typed:

I confirm.

The message sent. A small blue bubble. A decision I didn’t want to own.

I dropped the phone and covered my mouth so I wouldn’t make a sound that could wake Eli.

Outside, Manila kept moving.

Inside, it felt like a door closed behind me.

At 8:01 PM the next day, a new email hit my inbox from the Scholarship Committee.

Subject: Formal investigation — conflict of interest.