The Contract

The car pulled over in front of Thorne Strategic Heights, towering like a tomb over Miami. Usually, this building felt like a symbol of my birthright, but today it looked like my last resting place. I caught my reflection in the tinted window of the town car. My gown was stained and torn, my blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest, and my makeup had bled down my cheeks. I looked like a ghost.

"We are here, Miss Eloise," Edward said softly.

For the first time in my life, I detected pity in his voice.

Normally, the security guards bowed, but today, they looked at their shoes. As I walked toward the elevators, I realized the entire office was staring at me. Some were whispering behind their hands while others were holding up their phones, comparing the disaster in front of them to the image of me being tackled by a cop.

I pressed the button for the 50th floor, which was the Penthouse Boardroom, and prayed the doors would close before I burst into tears.

The doors slid open to the boardroom with windows overlooking Biscayne Bay.

A twenty-foot table was at the center of the room. At the far end sat my father, Harrison Thorne. To his right sat Marcus, the firm’s chief legal counsel and a man known for making "problems" disappear. The distance between us was a deliberate choice. My father’s face was red with anger.

I walked toward them, my heels clicking on the wooden floor. I was shown to a chair at the very opposite end of the table. No "Good mornings," no "Are you okay?" Just the scratching of Marcus’s pen and my father’s loud breathing.

I couldn't take the silence anymore. My voice came out smaller than I intended.

"What is all this? Why is Marcus here?"

"This is me drawing the line, Eloise," he stated, his voice low and dangerous.

"I have spent thirty years building a legacy of steel and concrete. I will not watch it be destroyed by a daughter who thinks the world is her personal playground."

"It was a mistake!" I snapped and tried to defend myself.

"The dog—"

"The dog didn't put a bottle of gin in your hand," he cut me off.

"Marcus."

The lawyer cleared his throat, sliding a stack of legal documents across the table.

"As of 8:00 AM this morning, Eloise, your access to the family trust has been suspended. Your credit cards have been deactivated. The Bugatti is being towed to a salvage yard, and the lease on your penthouse is being terminated."

"You're cutting me off? Over one night?"

"One night?" My father stood up.

"You didn't just break the law, Eloise. You broke the brand. You cost this company a three-hundred-million-dollar contract in Dubai this morning because the investors don't want to be associated with a family in 'moral freefall.' And not to mention the strings I had to pull to get you out of the charges for your 'joyride'! You aren't going back to your penthouse. You’re going to work."

"Work?” I blinked.

I tried to smooth down my matted hair, desperate to regain some shred of dignity.

“You mean like... becoming an influencer? Or maybe launching a boutique label? I can do that, Dad. I’ve got the eye for it. But cutting me off? That’s dramatic, even for you. You just need to take a breath. You’re being completely unreasonable.”

My father didn't flinch.

“If you want to be an influencer or a designer, that is your choice. But the bank of Thorne is closed. I will not make this easy for you anymore. Years of spoiling you rotten have brought us to this point, and I’m done watching you destroy everything.”

The shame I felt earlier was now replaced by anger.

“Well, then that’s on you, isn't it?” I snapped, crossing my arms.

“Maybe you should have raised me better if you’re so disappointed.”

The silence that followed was deafening. My father stood up slowly.

“You’re right,” he whispered.

“I should have. I shouldn't have protected you from the consequences of your own arrogance. I created a spoiled brat who has no idea how the real world functions. You are so out of touch with reality, Eloise, because you never had to face it.

“This is ridiculous!” I cried.

“If you want me to get a job, fine! I’ll do it. But you don’t have to strip my life away. Are you really ready to lose your only daughter because of one bad night?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Because if I don't lose you now, I’ll be burying you by next year."

He signaled to Marcus, who slid a single page toward me.

“Effective immediately,” my father began.

“You will no longer carry the name Thorne. You are forbidden from using it to secure employment, favours, or social standing. If you do, this entire agreement is void. From this moment on, you will use your mother’s birth name: Eloise Miller.”

“Miller? I sound like a waitress.”

“You’ll be lucky to be a waitress,” he countered coldly.

“I have leased a small apartment for you in West Miami. The rent is paid three months in advance. That is your window to get on your feet. I’ve also purchased a vehicle for you, a 2021 Toyota Corolla. I’ve paid for the first three installments. After that, the payments, the insurance, and every drop of oil are your responsibility. You will not return to your penthouse. Not for a shoe, not for a handbag. One of your purses could pay a year’s worth of rent, and I’m not letting you sell your way out of this lesson. You start from zero.”

“I’ll sue you!” I screamed, the tears finally breaking through.

“I’ll tell the world you’ve cast me out! People love me, they’ll help me. I’ll go to the press!”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

“Sue me. Use your own money to pay for the lawyers. Tell the world! I’m sure the public is eager to start a GoFundMe for a girl who just crashed a two-million-dollar car while high on God-knows-what. If you think your 'friends' are going to pay your bills once the Thorne name is gone, you’re even more delusional than I thought.”

I looked at him, heartbroken in a way I didn't think was possible.

“So that’s it? You just throw me away like garbage? Do you really hate me that much?” I let the sobs come now, hoping the sight of my breakdown would make him feel sorry for me.

But he didn't move to comfort me. He didn't even offer a tissue.

“I am doing this to help you, Eloise. And maybe someday, if you survive this, you’ll see that.” He reached into his blazer and pulled out a white envelope. He set it on the table.

“There is enough cash in there for some basic clothes and groceries. Edward will take you to your new address.”

He turned toward the window, looking out over the city he had built.

“This doesn't have to be permanent,” he added.

“The contract states that if you can live independently, hold a job, and stay out of the headlines for one year, your inheritance and your name will be reinstated. You have one year to prove you’re a Thorne. Right now, you’re just a Miller.”

He started toward the private exit, pausing only for a second at the door.

“Good luck, Eloise.”