Chapter 2

UNKNOWN POV

"Mr. Jasper, I have been patient with you for too long. Do you plan to never pay me?"

The voice was calm. Cold. A man in his forties lay on the floor in a tuxedo soaked with his own blood, coughing and spitting violently.

"I promise I will pay. I just need more time, I pr—"

A kick landed in his stomach before he could finish. He groaned, clutching himself.

"No, no, no," the calm voice said, measuring every word. "Jasper, I hate excuses. You came to me begging for help. Do you think I would beg for my own money? I would hate to have to hurt your family."

"Please, leave my daughter out of this. She has nothing to do with it. I'll pay everything. I beg you, sir, don't hurt my little girl."

A thick silence fell over the room. Jasper's heartbeat was the only sound left in the air.

"Well, then," Mr. Lance said, rising slowly from his chair. "You can pay with your daughter."

"S-sir?"

Olivia POV

The taxi dropped me off just as the morning sun began to rise properly.

Everything looked the same. The quiet street. The overgrown garden. I stepped inside carefully and closed the door behind me, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Because nothing had.

I showered, letting the water wash away the scent of hotel sheets and expensive cologne. Afterwards, I stared at my reflection, half expecting to see guilt written across my face.

Nothing. Just me. Just Olivia. Harder, maybe. Stronger.

Then reality came back, because we still had bills to pay.

I wasn't new to struggling, but I had almost forgotten what it felt like. Being born into wealth had never been my story. Being part of a family that built wealth, held onto it for a few years, and then lost it all, that was my story.

Dad's glass business took off when I started my second year of university. Mom had died seven months earlier, and he buried himself in work until the company was worth millions. Overnight, we had a new house in Atlanta Estate, invitations to galas, and friends who suddenly wanted to know me. I even had a rich boyfriends. I only wished Mom had been there to enjoy it with us.

But slowly, things shifted. My credit card declined, something that never happened. Dad was always on a call or in a meeting. Our maids left one by one until only one remained, Ms Suzi. I would come home to an empty fridge and the sound of Dad yelling at someone on the phone.

After months of hiding it, he finally told me the truth. He had been tricked into selling his company shares to an old-money tycoon. The company was slipping through his fingers. All we had left was the house and the car.

That was when I decided to find a job. For someone who studied Art History, my options were limited to museums or galleries. Two museums never even called me back. A reputable gallery had invited me for an interview, but I arrived late, thanks to a rude jerk who had blocked my way in the parking lot. If I ever saw him again, I would give him a piece of my mind.

I still had hope. But just in case, I needed a backup.

There was a flyer for a gym not far from the estate. Working there meant running into people I knew, or rich, rude people who would inevitably show up to work out. I had to try anyway.

I walked in, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. In that split second, I crashed into something solid.

"Damn it," I muttered.

I couldn't afford to be noticed. So I blurted out a breathless "Sorry" and slipped past the tall figure without looking up. Something about his cologne felt familiar, but I didn't stop to think about it.

At the front desk, a receptionist gave me a soft smile and pointed me toward the manager's office. He was so muscular he looked like he had lived in the gym all his life. But unlike his size, his voice was warm.

"You're here for the job?"

"Yes, sir. I'm very interested and ready to work." I gulped the moment I finished, worried I sounded desperate.

"Any experience in a gym or customer service?"

"No, but I'm personable, and I'm willing to learn."

It wasn't impressive. It was all I had.

Leaving, I figured I had a forty percent chance. I kept my hopes up anyway.

At home, the garden had been swallowed by wild leaves and overgrown flowers. It used to be so neat. Dad wouldn't be back until late. Lately, he came home drunk, bruised, and never talking about it.

I had just started pouring milk into a bowl of cereal when my phone rang. I already knew who it was.

"Hey, Anita," I said, my voice enthusiastic, my face cold.

"Olivia! Are you coming to the party tonight? We haven't seen you in a while." Loud music buzzed behind her.

"I've been busy. Maybe some other time."

I knew word about Dad's company had spread. She was only calling for gossip.

"Oh, right. Family stuff," she said, unmistakably mocking. "Let's hang out some other time."

The line went dead.

"Argh! I wanted to end the call first," I snapped, slamming the phone on the counter. "Arrogant witch."

After my cereal, I cleaned a little and headed to my room to sleep. I didn't get far.

Dad walked in.

That's early I said under my voice, He wasn't drunk this time. But the look in his eyes was completely wrong. He looked horrified, like a cat that had nearly lost its ninth life. The moment he saw me, it vanished, as if it had never been there.

"Olivia, I need to talk to you, dear."

His voice carried sadness and a quiet kind of pity. My heart sank. I sat on the sofa, and he sat beside me, eyes dropping to the floor.

"I love you, and I care for you deeply. But you know how things have been going. I'm losing the company. Everything is slipping out of my hands. Even our lives are in danger."

"Danger?" I whispered.

I had never seen that mix of fear in his eyes before.

"It isn't right for a father to ask this of you. But it might be the only way for us to survive. We could leave this city and start fresh."

A small flicker of relief rose in my chest. A fresh start, together. But what could my part possibly be?

"I'm a terrible father for saying this, but..."

His phone rang, cutting him off. His eyes widened when he saw the screen. He stood, gestured "later", and disappeared toward his room.

I waited. Minutes felt like hours.

He never came back out.

Eventually, I went to my room, my mind clouded with what he could possibly want from me. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of a single answer.