Chapter 5

I walked fast. Too fast. My heels clicked against the pavement, sharp and uneven, like the rhythm of my pulse.

The faceless man’s smile was burned into me. That mocking gesture, tapping his wrist like I was running out of time, wouldn’t stop replaying.

By the time I reached the subway, my throat was raw from breathing too hard. My fingers shook so badly that I dropped my Metro Card twice before I could swipe through.

Inside the car, I pressed my back against the cold metal pole and shut my eyes. The rocking of the train was supposed to be soothing. Tonight it felt like a countdown clock, and every screech of the wheels was another second slipping away.

Expiry.

The word lodged itself in me like a splinter.

When I reached the nonprofit office, the building looked smaller somehow, as if even the bricks knew the place was living on borrowed time.

The eviction notice was still taped to the door. I ripped it down, crumpled it in my hand, and forced myself inside.

The children’s drawings on the walls hit me like a punch. Crayon stick figures with wide smiles, shaky words scrawled in bright markers: Thank you, Miss Jane.

I pressed the eviction notice against my chest. My mother had died only weeks ago, my father was wasting away in a hospital bed, and now this, the one thing I’d built with my own hands, was slipping through my fingers.

How much more was I supposed to lose?

The phone rang.

I froze, staring at it on my desk. Calls this late were never good news.

I picked up. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was low, deliberate. Male. “Miss Riley. Deadlines are important, don’t you think?”

My breath stopped.

“Who is this?”

A chuckle. Smooth. Cruel. “Let’s just say I’m someone who believes in order. Timetables. Expiry dates. And yours is coming up fast.”

My grip tightened on the receiver. “If this is about the nonprofit…”

“Oh, it’s not just about your little charity. It’s about everything. Your father. Your debts. Your future.” A pause. “Tick, tock.”

The line went dead.

I stood there, the dial tone humming in my ear, and my knees nearly gave out.

He knew about Dad. About everything.

For one terrible second, I almost called Daniel. But the memory of his silence at the café, his refusal to tell me the truth, stopped me. If he wouldn’t explain his past, how could I trust him with my future?

I set the phone down with shaking hands.

The next morning, Sophia came by the office. My sister breezed in with a coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other, her usual armor of sarcasm already strapped on.

“Wow,” she said, glancing around at the piles of overdue notices on my desk. “Looks like someone’s one inspirational poster away from a nervous breakdown.”

I shot her a look. “Not the time, Soph.”

She dropped the bagel in front of me. “That’s why I brought carbs. Emotional support food.”

Normally, her humor would’ve broken through my storm cloud. Not today.

She caught it instantly. Her smile faltered. “Jane? What happened?”

I hesitated. I wanted to tell her everything: the faceless man, Pierce, and the phone call. But the thought of dragging her into this mess made my stomach twist.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I lied.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I forced a bite of the bagel just to shut her up, but the dry bread turned to dust in my mouth.

That afternoon, I stopped by the hospital.

Dad was asleep when I walked in, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Machines beeped steadily around him, the only sounds in the sterile room.

I sat by his bed, my hand closing around his frail fingers.

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” I whispered. “Everything’s falling apart. Mom’s gone. You’re slipping away. And someone’s trying to scare me into… into something I don’t even understand.”

His hand twitched, like he wanted to squeeze mine, but he was too weak.

Tears filled my eyes. I leaned close. “I don’t know if I can carry all of this alone.”

The monitor beeped in answer, steady and indifferent.

I lowered my head to the bedrail, fighting the urge to sob.

By the time I left the hospital, night had fallen. The city lights blurred in my vision as I walked back toward the subway.

That’s when I saw it.

Another envelope. Slipped into my bag. I hadn’t even felt it.

My hands shook as I tore it open under the streetlight.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, the same neat, block handwriting.

“72 HOURS.”

That was it.

No explanation. No demands. Just a deadline.

The world tilted.

Three days.

Three days until what? Until the nonprofit shut down? Until Dad’s condition worsened? Until… something worse happened to me?

I shoved the paper back into the envelope and clutched it against my chest as if holding it tighter might stop time itself.

The faceless man’s smile flashed in my memory. The word he mouthed. Expiry.

And suddenly I understood this wasn’t just about threats. This was a countdown.

I stumbled to the curb, desperate for air, when a sleek black car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down.

Pierce sat inside, his expression calm, amused, like a predator who had all the time in the world.

“Miss Riley,” he said smoothly. “You look pale. Long day?”

I froze.

He glanced at the envelope in my hand and smiled wider. “Ah. I see you’ve received my little note.”

My blood turned to ice.

“It’s simple,” Pierce continued. “You have seventy-two hours to make your choice. Side with Daniel, and you’ll watch everything you love collapse. Side with me…” He shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “And you’ll never have to worry about expiry dates again.”

The window slid up. The car pulled away.

I stood rooted to the sidewalk, clutching the envelope so hard it crumpled in my fist.

Three days. That was all I had.

Three days to save my nonprofit.

Three days to protect my father.

Three days to figure out who I could trust before I lost everything.