Chapter 2: The Weight of Choice

Golden light spilled through the curtains, soft against the pale sheets. The heater hummed quietly, pushing warmth into the otherwise still night. I sat cross-legged under the blanket, laptop balanced on my knees, having finished my nightly routine, shower, change, quick dinner, and tidying up a few small things.

I’d tried calling Dad as soon as I got home, but the line was busy. I set the phone beside the laptop, sipped the cold coffee on the nightstand, and kept working. I had drawn the curtains just enough to catch the city lights, letting the quiet settle me.

Notes and case files were stacked beside me. I shifted a file, glanced at the summary, and typed out the final note, fingers moving automatically while my eyes flicked between documents.

The silence stretched until the sudden buzz of my phone broke it. Dad’s name lit up the screen. I grabbed it, holding it between my shoulder and ear as I closed the laptop.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face.

“You finally got home,” he said, calm but firm. “Long day?”

“Yeah, the shift ran late, and it rained on the way back. Everything’s fine, though.” I paused, glancing at the streaked window. “You sound tense. Is everything okay? Mom and Alexa?”

“They’re fine,” he said, the faint clink of a mug from the line reaching me. “Listen, I need you to come home tomorrow.”

I stopped mid-motion, my hand lingering on the mattress. “Tomorrow? What, for?”

“It’s important. We need to talk in person.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, scanning the room. “Dad, you’re scaring me a little. Is everything okay?”

“It is. But not something I can explain over the phone. Can you come in the morning?”

I chewed my bottom lip, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. “I have class and a shift, but I can come after work.”

“Good. Don’t be late.” The line clicked dead before I could respond. I lowered the phone, squinting at the dark screen. Just ended?

Before I could put it back, another vibration buzzed across the nightstand. A new email notification blinked. The university administration.

I clicked it open, expecting another schedule reminder, but the text was different.

“Due to an ongoing investigation near Westview Avenue following last night’s incident, the university will remain closed tomorrow. Students are advised to avoid the area until further notice.”

My eyebrows twitched as I went line by line until I reached the end of the email.

Medline Administration Office

(Attached: News Source — Cityline Update)

My eyes ran over the text again before I clicked the link attached at the bottom.

The headline loaded in bold black letters:

“ROSSI UNDER SCRUTINY AFTER ATTEMPTING TO USE BLACKSTONE NAME IN FALSE DEAL”

Below the headline, the article read:

“Westview Avenue, Cityline. Last night, local authorities investigated Rossi Enterprises after an attempted permit acquisition using the name of the Blackstone family, one of the city’s most influential figures. Sources say Rossi tried to leverage a connection that does not exist, in an effort to expand his operations. The stunt triggered a minor turf clash and drew attention from rival groups. No injuries were reported. Investigations continue.”

I switched off the screen and set the phone aside, stretching slightly before rising from the bed. My hands rested on the window sill as I stared down at the dark streets below.

First, the men on the road tonight. Then Dad’s urgent call. And now this email. Why was everything happening at once? Was it coincidence, or was there something I wasn’t seeing?

I paced slowly back and forth, folding my arms across my chest. My eyes flicked to the clock. 12:30. Too late to make any move.

******

Morning sunlight cut through the windshield, sharp against the glass. I lowered the visor, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as the car inched forward, then stopped again. Traffic hadn’t moved in nearly ten minutes.

I leaned sideways, trying to see what was holding everyone up. The line of vehicles stretched endlessly, horns blaring in bursts of frustration. A traffic officer scanned the street, directing cars with practiced gestures, letting a few through at a time.

Oh please, move, what the hell! I groaned, watching the slow crawl.

I’d taken a morning shift at the clinic and had told Ava to handle the rest while I went to my parents’ house.

Then my eyes caught a sleek black car exactly to my left, windows dark and reflective. For a moment, I felt someone’s gaze on me. I turned slightly, trying to see past the tinted windows, and a strange unease ran through me.

I tried to focus on the road again, pretending to check the rearview mirror. Eventually, the black car slowly turned down the next lane and disappeared from view.

Finally! I exhaled, gripping the wheel a little less tightly, though the uneasy feeling lingered, like someone had been watching me.

A while later, I drove up to the house. The gatekeeper, Uncle Mike, gave me a warm nod from his post by the gate, the same way he had since I was a kid. I passed him a soft smile in greeting before parking my car to the side.

My eyes immediately landed on another, unmistakably familiar car already there. I read the number plate, and a spark of excitement hit me. Grabbing my bag, I stepped out and hurried toward the living room, eager to see her.

I pushed open the front door, a smile tugging at my lips. “Hey, Alexa!” I called, expecting her usual teasing grin.

She was curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her expression tight, almost unreadable. My smile faltered as I hurried toward her and dropped my bag on the table.

“Jenna,” she whispered, stepping up and pulling me into a tight hug. It wasn’t casual, there was urgency behind it, a weight she couldn’t put into words. My heart skipped. Something felt wrong.

Before I could ask her anything, Mom appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. The smile she offered didn’t reach her eyes; tension lined her face, the same kind I saw in Alexa’s. Then came Dad’s footsteps, measured and steady, echoing down the stairs. He reached the bottom, glanced at us, and paused.

“I had told him I’d let him know later,” Dad said quietly to Mom, holding his phone.

I furrowed my brow. Him? “Is someone coming today?” My eyes darted between the three of them, catching the tension as Dad finally reached me shaking his head.

“Sit, Jenna,” he said, lowering himself onto the single couch beside me. I sank into the cushions, my palms pressing against my knees.

Alexa went upstairs, and something about the way she avoided my eyes made me suspicious. Mom returned to the kitchen, and Dad started small talk about my schedule, my shifts, and other everyday things. The chatter felt hollow, doing little to ease the tension.

Mom came back with a tray, carrying snacks and my favorite mango nectar, and handed me a glass. As I reached for the snacks, my eyes drifted past Dad’s shoulder toward the kitchen. A few extra grocery bags sat on the counter, filled with things we didn’t usually buy unless guests were expected.

“Mom, it seems like you’re doing preparations. Who’s visiting today?” I asked again, glancing among them. I noticed her sitting quietly on the couch, a faint crease of worry on her forehead. Mom exchanged a glance with Dad, unease written on both their faces.

Dad leaned forward, hands clasped, clearing his throat. “You’re going to be engaged, Jenna.”

The words hit like a punch. My glass paused mid-lift. My mind went blank.

“Are you serious, Dad?” I blurted, disbelief cutting through the shock. “I’m not even done with my studies yet. How can you even think of this now?”

He lifted a hand. “I know this is sudden. But it’s necessary. This isn’t just a social arrangement; it’s about protection, alliances, survival.”

I set the glass down, the small tick loud in the quiet room. “But, who?”

He let a pause stretch, letting the weight settle. “Evan Grant. He’s the one you will be engaged to.” He lifted his head, meeting my wide, shocked eyes. “I know you’ll question me, but Jenna, I tried to refuse this proposal many times. Now the stakes are higher than expected.”

I stayed still, trying to catch my breath. His expression told me the conversation was far from over.

“I could have pushed him away again, but he isn’t ordinary. He’s a king from the Blackstone Gang. One wrong move, and there’s no one to protect you.”

The name hit me. Blackstone. My mind flashed to the email I’d read last night, the one about Rossi, the investigation, the minor turf clash.

“Wait, Dad, isn’t this about Rossi? That news I read, the one about the woman they were chasing?”

He shook his head slowly, eyes calm but serious. “No, Jenna. This isn’t connected to Rossi. This is something older. Something bigger.”

I pressed my hands to my face, trying to process. Words barely formed.

“Dad, how does he even know I existed? Is he someone involved in your business or?”

Dad leaned back slightly, exhaling slowly. “No. He isn’t one of my partners, and this isn’t about my business directly. But both of our families are known in this city. His father’s a businessman, influential. You remember that day at the mall after your exams, the weekend Alexa wanted to celebrate?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “We just went for lunch.”

“You passed the café near the center court. He was there, having a meeting. He saw you.”

I sank back against the couch, my hands curling into the fabric. Four months ago, and now it meant all of this. The realization sank deep.

“There’s no choice left, Jenna. If I refuse again, he will destroy everything: our business, our home, our safety. Not a second will be spared.”

I shook my head, voice firm despite the tremor. “Dad, you can’t just hand me over. You’re a known businessman. You could get help. You’re not powerless!”

He exhaled, shoulders stiffening, gaze dropping. “Help? You think anyone in this city can stand against him? Against Evan Grant?”

“Exactly! You could make people listen. Use your connections, your influence. Don’t just hand me over,” I said, clutching the glass again, trying to steady my breath.

Dad leaned back further, his expression hardening. “I’ve tried everything. Men like him don’t take no. They don’t forget. Once he wants something, he gets it. And now that he has seen you, Jenna, there’s no turning back.”

Dad slowly got up from the couch, straightening his shirt. “Evan wants to meet you in person. Maybe to go over his Italian rituals. Tell me when you can, tomorrow or later.”

What? Italian? And now he wants to meet me in person? My mind stuttered over the new piece of information. Great. Foreign traditions and expectations, just what I needed.

He paused halfway, glancing over his shoulder. “I expect you won’t push me to the point where I can only give you a choice. Save this family or cut off. Choose wisely: marrying him may keep you safe. Refuse, and nothing will protect you.”

The words landed like stones in my chest. My lips parted, but nothing came out. For a heartbeat, I followed him as he moved across the room, the space between us stretching, heavy and unbridgeable.

Tears blurred my vision, spilling before I could stop them. Everything felt wrong, like the world had shifted beneath me. Mom pulled me into her arms, whispering softly as her hand rubbed my back, trying to hold together what already felt broken.