Chapter One – The Weight of the Hart Family
The morning sun spilled through the worn curtains of the Hart apartment, its light falling on chipped paint and a dining table that had seen better years. The place was small—two bedrooms, a living room that doubled as a storage space, and a kitchen barely big enough for three people to stand in at once. Yet it was home, even if home had started to feel like a battlefield.
Lila Hart stood by the stove, stirring porridge absentmindedly. Her eyes burned from another night without sleep, her body aching from the double shifts she had been taking. She moved with quiet efficiency, but her heart was heavy. Every bill, every hospital note, every threatening message from creditors sat like weights in her chest.
She turned as the door to the hallway creaked open.
"Lila?"
Her mother, Bianca Hart, emerged, dressed in her faded blue cleaner's uniform. The fabric smelled faintly of bleach no matter how often she washed it. Bianca tied her apron tighter around her waist, her face pale from exhaustion, her hands red and cracked from endless hours of scrubbing.
"You should eat before you go," Bianca said, her voice soft but firm. "You can't keep running on empty."
Lila offered a small, tired smile. "I'll grab something later, Mom. Don't worry."
"You always say that." Bianca shook her head, brushing a strand of gray from her forehead. "You're twenty-two, Lila. You shouldn't be carrying all of this alone."
The words cut deep, because they were true. But Lila couldn't afford to admit weakness. She tightened her grip on the wooden spoon and forced steadiness into her voice. "Dad needs the medication, and someone has to pay for it. I'll be fine."
A cough echoed from the bedroom. Both women froze for a moment before Lila set the spoon aside and hurried to her father's room.
Sylvester Hart lay propped against a stack of pillows, his once-strong frame sunken beneath the blankets. The stroke had taken so much from him—his ability to speak clearly, his mobility, his pride. His eyes, however, still held the familiar warmth and shame all at once.
"Good morning, Dad," Lila whispered as she adjusted his pillow. "How are you feeling?"
He tried to answer, but his words came out broken, tangled sounds that carried his frustration. Lila's heart clenched, but she squeezed his hand gently. "Don't worry. Just rest. I'll take care of everything."
Before she could say more, another voice drifted into the room.
"Morning," Jake muttered, leaning against the doorframe.
At seventeen, Jake Hart was tall but still lanky, his hair a messy dark mop that fell into his eyes. He wore his school uniform carelessly, his tie hanging loose, his shirt half-tucked. His backpack dangled from one shoulder, and his sneakers were scuffed from too many months of wear.
Unlike when he was younger, he no longer burst into the room with boyish energy. Instead, his expression carried the weight of someone too old for his years. His gaze lingered on his father, sadness flickering behind the teenage bravado.
"Morning, Jake," Lila greeted softly. "Eat something before you go."
"I'm not hungry," he muttered, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud.
Bianca sighed as she entered the room. "You can't keep skipping breakfast, Jake. You'll collapse in class."
"I'll be fine." His tone was sharper this time, defensive. Then his eyes darted to Sylvester. "How's Dad?"
"He's stable," Lila replied, trying to sound calm.
Jake crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders tense. "Stable isn't enough." His voice cracked slightly as he looked at his father's frail frame. "He needs better treatment. Real treatment. But we can't even pay for what he's on now."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Sylvester closed his eyes, shame etched into his features. Bianca's hand flew to her mouth, while Lila's heart squeezed painfully.
"Jake—" she began.
But he cut her off, his jaw tightening. "Maybe I should quit school. Get a job. Help out."
"No!" The word escaped Lila before she could stop herself. She stepped closer, her voice trembling but firm. "You're finishing school, Jake. No discussion."
He shot to his feet, frustration pouring out of him. "What's the point of finishing school if Dad—if Dad doesn't…" His voice trailed off, unable to finish. He clenched his fists and looked away, his chest rising and falling quickly.
Bianca reached out, touching his arm gently. "Jake, please. Don't talk like that. Your father needs hope as much as he needs medicine."
Jake swallowed hard, blinking back tears he didn't want anyone to see. He grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder roughly. "I hate this. I hate watching everyone break themselves while I just sit in a classroom pretending everything's normal."
"Jake." Lila's voice softened. She reached for his arm, but he pulled away.
"I'll be late," he muttered before storming out. The slam of the door echoed through the small apartment.
Silence lingered in his absence. Bianca sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand over her heart. "He doesn't mean it. He's just… hurting."
"I know." Lila stared at the door, her chest aching. She knew Jake's words came from love and frustration, but it still cut her deeply. She wanted to shield him from all of this, to let him have at least one piece of a normal life. But reality didn't care about what they wanted.
She turned back to her father, who was staring at the ceiling, tears sliding silently down his cheeks. His pride had been shattered, and his son's outburst only deepened the wound. Lila brushed the tears away gently.
"It's not your fault, Dad," she whispered. "None of this is your fault."
He squeezed her hand weakly, his eyes saying the words he couldn't form.
Moments later, Bianca stood, tying her headscarf in preparation for work. "I need to get going. The school opens early, and there's so much to clean before classes start."
Lila nodded, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "Be careful, Mom."
Bianca's eyes softened with guilt as she looked at her daughter. "I wish I could do more, Lila. You've sacrificed so much already."
"You do enough," Lila insisted. "Keeping food on the table, keeping Jake in school—you're holding this family together too."
But when Bianca left, the apartment felt even smaller, heavier. Lila stood in the quiet, staring at the walls that seemed to close in more each day. At twenty-two, she should have been chasing dreams. Instead, she was chasing debt collectors, hospital bills, and the clock that never stopped ticking.
She grabbed her worn handbag, her mind already racing through the day ahead—long shifts, endless exhaustion, and still not enough money at the end of it all.
As she stepped out into the bustling city streets, the contrast was staggering. People hurried by in polished suits, their laughter spilling out as they talked into sleek phones and sipped overpriced coffee. Life for them seemed effortless, golden.
And then there was her—Lila Hart, with tired shoes, weary eyes, and the crushing responsibility of keeping her broken family afloat.
She pulled her jacket tighter against the wind and walked faster. She couldn't afford to slow down. Not now. Not ever.
What she didn't know was that this same desperation, this same unyielding determination, would soon draw her into a world she never imagined—a world ruled by Adrian Wolfe, a man whose power and wealth could erase her struggles in an instant.
But at what cost?