"Some bonds are forged in blood. Others, in bruises."
—Andre Callahan
"Hello, hello, can you hear me?'' she said repeatedly into the phone before I could answer.
"What's the name of the hospital you're at?'' she gave me the name and I was already heading for the door.
"Andre,'' Elena called, concern tightening her voice. "Is everything fine?''
I turned back toward her and forced a smile. "Yeah, it's fine."
My father's voice cut in cold and sharp. "We're not done here."
"Right. You want something that's not for sale. That pretty much concludes it."
I hugged Elena quickly and walked out, ignoring the way my father's gaze burned holes into my back.
I first met Dylan in high school. One of my father's shady deals had gone south and I was receiving the backlash. Dylan, who I had always assumed was nothing more than a self-centered narcissist, was the one who stepped in.
"So how do we do this?" he'd asked the older kids. "You want to fight someone younger and get yourself embarrassed, or save yourself the shame and scramble?" He had said smugly.
The conclusion? We both ended up beaten to a pulp. Turned out Dylan was all mouth and no fight. Still, from that day, I considered him a friend. Now, he's more than that. He's a brother.
When I arrived at the hospital, a stranger answered Dylan's line and directed me to the emergency ward. I found him sitting upright, a nurse checking his vitals.
"You seem too healthy to be lying on a sick bed,'' I teased.
Dylan smirked. "Says the guy who was frantically searching for me.''
"Whatever. Where's she?'' I asked, scanning the room.
"Where's who?'' Dylan frowned.
"Your knight in shining armor, obviously,'' I said with a grin.
His expression shifted. "Seriously, who are you talking about? I can't remember how I got here. I blacked out at some point." He reached for his jacket, distracted, almost dazed.
"I ran into Asher at the company," he muttered. "It… unnerved me. I ended up having a panic attack."
"You ran into who?" I froze. "How is that possible? Why now? Why her?"
Dylan shook his head, frustrated. "You think I know the answers? Let's just get out of here."
He brushed past me, leaving me staring after him, my thoughts spiraling. Everything about this encounter felt wrong. What in the world was going on?
---
"When the numbers stared back at me, so did the cost of my freedom."
—Ava Carter
Ava's Point of View
The afternoon sun was blinding, the streets loud with honking cars and shouting vendors. But none of it drowned out the noise inside my head.
A contract marriage? That had to be the craziest thing I'd ever heard.
I wove through the crowd, too lost in my thoughts, until someone caught my attention.
He looked out of place, like he'd stepped out of a glossy magazine spread and been dropped into the chaos of the street. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an immaculate suit, but hunched against a wall, gasping for breath. His fingers clawed at his chest, eyes wide with panic.
This wasn't exhaustion. This was something worse.
My feet moved before my brain could think, I dropped to my knees beside him, my voice shaking as I begged strangers to help me. By the time the cab screeched to a stop and we piled him inside, my hands were trembling almost as much as his.
I half-dragged, half-guided the man into the hospital lobby, my heart racing almost as fast as his shallow breaths. The nurses took one look at him and rushed him onto a stretcher, voices sharp and urgent.
Someone shoved a clipboard at me, asking questions I couldn't answer. The only thing I managed to do was dial the emergency contact I found in his phone, blurting out where we were before my voice cracked.
Moments later, my phone, well his phone, still in my hand buzzed with a call back. A clipped, steady voice demanded where I was in the hospital. I answered, then stood awkwardly, drenched in sweat and nerves, feeling like I had stumbled into a storm that wasn't mine.
But I couldn't stay. My shift at the bakery was ticking closer, and the last thing I could afford was losing another job. I lingered long enough to make sure he was in safe hands, hovering in the hallway like a ghost before slipping out. Whoever I'd spoken to would find him soon. By then, I'd be gone, just another stranger passing through his chaos.
By the time I dragged myself home from my shift, my body felt like lead. Every joint ached, and my eyelids stung from fighting sleep all day. I barely noticed the package sitting on my desk until I dropped my bag on the chair and saw the note tapped to the top.
"At least check the content.''
I frowned. Who even left this here? With a sigh, I tore the seal and pulled out a thick stack of papers. My eyes skimmed the first line, and my stomach did a little flip.
'Contract Marriage.' "What the hell?'' I muttered flipping through the pages. My name was typed neatly at the top of each section, staring back at me like it had already been decided. I should have tossed it aside, laughed it off as some sick joke, but curiosity pinned me to my chair.
My eyes slid down to the section labelled 'Compensation.'
That's when I froze.
The number was obscene. More than I could dream of earning in a lifetime of bakery shifts, cleaning jobs, and late-night deliveries. More than enough to pay off the debt, save my mother, keep my sisters safe, and still have something left over.
My throat tightened. It felt wrong to even think about it, to put a tag on myself. I slammed the folder shut as if that would stop the temptation from seeping into my bones.
"No,'' I whispered to the empty room, shaking my head. "I'm not that desperate. Not yet.''
I searched the file for a contact and found their card, I put it in my bag making a mental note to call them tomorrow and warn them about bringing up talks about this again.
I crawled into bed, hoping sleep would silence the thoughts clawing at me. But when morning came, reality didn't care about my boundaries. The hospital called. I don't even remember the bus ride, just the hollow ringing in my ears as I sprinted down sterile white halls. When I burst into the ICU, a doctor was waiting, his face grave.
"Your mother's condition has worsened. Her cirrhosis of the liver is advancing rapidly. If we don't operate soon, we may lose her.''
Cirrhosis. The word had been hunting us for months, but hearing it now felt like a death sentence. "We'll need to proceed with the transplant immediately,'' he added. "But the costs…..'' I didn't even hear the rest. My vision blurred. The numbers I'd seen last night flashed like neon lights behind my eyes. I had no money, no savings and no time.
And then, almost against my will, my gaze slid to the hospital phone on the wall. I searched frantically and pulled out the business card I had found in the contract file without even looking at the details. My fingers trembled as I lifted the receiver.
Each number I dialed felt like another piece of my soul being traded away. When the line clicked and a deep voice answered, I couldn't breath for a moment.
"This is Ava Carter,'' I said, my voice breaking at the weight of the words pressed down on me. "I'll do it. I'll sign the contract.'' The silence on the other end was brief but it felt endless. And just like that, I knew my life would never belong to me again.