Peach Blossom Debt Novels & Stories

Debra stared at the mountain of debt, her eyes widening as she took in the staggering figures. What had started as a few thousand had snowballed into hundreds of thousands, then millions, and finally tens of millions. Each page was a huge debt, a testament to Ralph's desperation. She could almost see him, hunched over a desk, signing away his soul one IOU at a time. These debts had been accumulating for four years. She looked up at Andrew. "You knew about these all along?"

I winked playfully at her. She cleared her throat, eyeing me from head to toe, “Where did a jobless person like you get the money for all of these?” Ouch! “You really don't know?” I whispered as I leaned towards her. I was married to a billionaire after all. Her eyes widened “No way!” “Yes way!” I exclaimed, matching her dramatic energy. “Can I come in already?” Dylan lamented from behind, tired of standing with all the bags he carried. Aunt Rose made way for us, but instead of going in, I hugged her from behind and muttered, “I missed you.”

All their fangs are bare in wild snarls, and Barrett's proud smile mirrors his assurance of victory. “Brute force won’t help you.” He boasts. An idea forms in my head, and I don’t give it a second’s thought before muttering. “I’ll take her as payment for my debt,” I square my shoulders. I observe the woman—I still don’t know her name—and her brows furrow in confusion. The grey wolf behind Barrett shifts into his beta, Gusto, who walks up to Barrett. “This situation is more complex than your debt, Vince,” Gusto says.

I choked. “What don’t you understand?” he said, his voice cold. “Do I need to repeat myself?” I nodded, struggling to form words. “Yes.” “The reason your debt has skyrocketed is simple. I found out your precious Alaric didn’t just run off with the money he borrowed—he stole an additional five hundred thousand dollars from me before he vanished. And you…” He leaned forward. “…you are the only person left to repay me.” My mouth went dry. My vision blurred.

"Please. I don't understand what's happening. My family—we don't have any debt. This is a mistake." The prince stood. He moved like water, inevitable and smooth. The other vampires shifted away as he walked down the aisle. Not fear—something else. Respect. Wariness. "Sold," the auctioneer declared, "to Prince Caspian Noctis for one hundred and fifty thousand. The Ashford debt is now transferred to House Noctis." *Caspian.* My chest felt too tight. I couldn't breathe right.

Others were terrifyingly intimate. Me, at sixteen, sitting on a park bench. Me, at eighteen, walking into my graduation ceremony. Me, three weeks ago, crying in my wedding dress while my father counted Moretti’s money. There were notes scrawled in the margins in Dante's jagged, aggressive handwriting. Target secured. Phase one complete. The bird is in the nest. My stomach churned. This wasn't protection. It wasn't a debt repayment. It was a hunt.

And the man who currently owns your debt. ​He held up a piece of paper. It wasn't a contract. It was a photograph of me, taken ten years ago, when I was just a girl in a printing apron. On the back, written in ink that looked suspiciously like the formula I had forged at Blackwood, were the words: ​Interest is due.

"Can you trace it?" "I can try," I said. But whoever made this did not wish to discover. "Do it," she said softly. I hesitated. My chest tightened. "If I do this, I can't unsee it." "You already can't," she replied. I swallowed and kept typing. The more I went in, the stranger it was. The node was disguised in three fake companies and two deceased investors. People who had died years ago. I checked the dates. My hands began to shake.

It was the kind of document a high-level CEO would give a private doctor. I looked for the catch. I looked for the word Mafia. I looked for the word Debt. I found none of them. "Six months," I clarified, my pen hovering over the signature line. "And then Leo is free? Truly free?" "His debt is erased from my books and the streets. You have my word." Dante leaned back, his golden eyes tracking the slight tremor in my hand. "You're tired, Clara. You've been fighting for everyone else for a long time. Sign the papers. Let me take the weight for a while."

And apparently, he owned my father. "Why were you dealing with him?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the sudden roaring in my ears. "Why would he even look at a small-time business like ours?" "He didn't," my mother interrupted, her voice breaking as she turned to face us. "He bought the debt from the banks when the interest rates ballooned. He consolidated everything. And now... he’s called the debt due. All of it. Tomorrow." I looked from my mother’s tear-streaked face to my father’s bowed head. The reality began to sink in, a slow, freezing tide. "How much?"