Chapter 1 No.1

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Holly Austin didn't move.

It was Kirk Knapp. The screen glowed with his name.

She stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster with her eyes.

Her mother's surgery was tomorrow. The final payment was due.

That was the only reason she was still here, in this cold, ornate bedroom that felt more like a cage than a home.

This was the price of her mother's life.

She finally reached for the phone, her fingers stiff.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Kirk's voice was clipped, impatient.

"In the bedroom."

"Jaida took a tumble. Scraped her arm. Get the first-aid kit and bring it to the living room. Now."

The line went dead.

Holly closed her eyes for a moment. Jaida Goff. His college-aged niece. The real reason for his moods, his anger, his rare, fleeting moments of kindness.

She got up. Her own body ached with a dull, persistent pain. The bruises on her back were a deep purple, hidden beneath her silk pajamas. A gift from him two nights ago, after she'd forgotten to warm his slippers.

She found the first-aid kit in the bathroom. It was fully stocked. Antiseptics, bandages, salves for every conceivable injury. Kirk was a fanatic about health and safety.

Just not hers.

When she entered the living room, Kirk was kneeling by the sofa, dabbing at a tiny red mark on Jaida's forearm with what looked like a silk handkerchief. Jaida was sobbing, her shoulders shaking dramatically.

"It hurts so much, Uncle Kirk," she whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears.

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Kirk's voice was a low, soothing murmur Holly had never heard directed at herself.

He looked up and saw Holly standing there with the kit. His face hardened.

"What took you so long?" he snapped. "Do you want it to get infected?"

Holly said nothing. She walked forward and opened the kit on the coffee table.

Kirk snatched a sterile wipe and began cleaning the minuscule scratch with painstaking care. "I'm calling Dr. Evans. We need to make sure there's no nerve damage."

Jaida sniffled. "Will it scar? I have that photoshoot next week."

"Of course not," Kirk said, his voice softening again. "I won't let anything mar your perfect skin."

He glanced at Holly, his eyes cold and sharp. "What are you staring at? Go make Jaida some warm milk with honey. It will calm her nerves."

Holly turned and walked toward the kitchen.

She remembered the day she'd met him, a lifetime ago. Her mother's diagnosis had come like a freight train, and the medical bills were a mountain she could never hope to climb alone. A friend had made the introduction: Kirk Knapp, a man of immense wealth and influence. He'd looked at her not with pity, but with an assessing gaze, like a man evaluating livestock. His offer was brutally simple. He would cover all her mother's medical expenses. In return, she would play the part of his fiancée.

His family, particularly his grandfather, was pressuring him to settle down. Jaida, his niece, was too young. Holly was a presentable, desperate solution. A placeholder.

She had thought, for a brief, naive moment, that he was a savior. He had paid for the initial consultations, the best doctors. He had given her hope.

Then Jaida had come to live with them. And the hope had curdled into a slow-acting poison.

Holly had tried to confess her feelings once, months ago. It was a desperate gamble. She'd gathered her courage, told him she was grateful, that she was starting to see him as more than just a benefactor.

His reaction was brutal.

He had laughed. A harsh, ugly sound.

Then he'd pulled out a ledger. It was bound in black leather. He opened it on the table.

Every expense was itemized. Her mother's hospital bills. The clothes on her back. The food she ate. Each entry had a date and a dollar amount, calculated to the cent.

"This is what you are to me, Holly," he had said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A transaction. An investment. Do you understand? Don't ever confuse gratitude with affection. You are not entitled to it."

He had shamed her. He had stripped her bare, not of her clothes, but of her dignity. That was the core of their relationship. He was the master; she was the purchase.

She brought the warm milk to the living room.

Jaida took it, her eyes shooting a look of triumphant malice at Holly over the rim of the mug.

Kirk didn't even look at her. He was on the phone with his doctor, his voice tight with worry.

Holly retreated to her room. She sat on the edge of the bed.

This couldn't go on.

But her mother.

The thought was a physical anchor, holding her in place.

She picked up her phone and opened a hidden folder. It contained a single file. A scanned copy of an application form for a prestigious biomedical research program in another state. She had filled it out weeks ago, in secret. It was a fantasy. A lifeline to a world that didn't exist yet.

She needed a degree, a skill, a way out that was entirely her own.

She had to pretend. Just a little longer. Until her mother was safe.

She laid down, pulling the covers up to her chin.

She would endure.

She had to.