Emma slammed the apartment door shut behind her and leaned against it, pressing her forehead against the cool wood. Her hands were still trembling from the conversation she'd just had with Alexander Blackwood.
"How dare he," she muttered under her breath. "How dare he think he can buy me."
The memory of his words burned in her mind. I need a fiancée. Six months. Your debts—gone.
Her jaw tightened. She wasn't some item on a shelf he could purchase. She wasn't for sale.
"Emma?" a soft voice called.
She turned to see Ella peeking out of their small shared bedroom, worry written all over her twin's face. Ella's hair was messy from studying, and she wore one of Emma's old t-shirts that hung too big on her small frame.
"Are you okay?" Ella asked.
Emma forced a smile, trying to hide the storm inside her. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired from work."
Ethan, the other twin, appeared behind his sister, tall and lanky, rubbing his eyes. "You're always tired." He frowned. "You were supposed to be home an hour ago. Did something happen?"
Emma shook her head quickly. "No. Nothing happened. Just… ran into someone annoying."
Her siblings exchanged a look, but they didn't push further. They knew Emma well enough to recognize when she didn't want to talk.
"Go on," she said gently, waving them back toward their books. "Finish your homework. I'll start dinner."
They nodded, though Ella lingered for a second, clearly still worried. Emma managed another smile, and eventually Ella slipped away.
Emma headed to the kitchen, but her hands were unsteady as she chopped vegetables. The knife clattered against the cutting board. She couldn't stop hearing his voice.
You don't have to like me. You just have to look like you do.
Her stomach churned. He had everything money, power, a mansion so large it could probably swallow their entire apartment. And still he looked at her like she was a piece in some game he was playing.
She gritted her teeth. She would never accept. Never.
⸻
The next morning, reality came knocking again.
Emma sat at the small kitchen table, flipping through bills. Electricity. Water. Rent. Hospital payments. The numbers blurred together until her chest ached.
She rubbed her forehead. No matter how many hours she worked, the debt only seemed to grow. She was like a hamster running in a wheel, exhausted but getting nowhere.
Her father coughed from the other room. The sound was harsh, painful, and it cut through her like a knife.
"Emma," he called weakly.
She hurried to him, her worry instantly replacing her frustration. He was sitting up in bed, pale and thin, his once-strong hands trembling.
"You should be resting, Dad," she said softly, adjusting his pillow.
He gave her a faint smile. "I've rested enough. I don't like seeing you carry so much, sweetheart."
Emma's throat tightened. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
But she wasn't fine. She was drowning, and every day it got harder to keep her head above water.
Her father sighed. "Your mother would've hated this. Seeing you work yourself to the bone. I wish there was another way."
Emma forced a small laugh, even though it was hollow. "Unless money grows on trees, I don't see one."
But as she said the words, an image flashed in her mind. Alexander. His sharp eyes. His cold voice. His offer.
She shoved the thought away instantly. No. Never.
⸻
By the end of the week, Emma's exhaustion had deepened. She pulled double shifts, barely slept, and still came home to a stack of bills she couldn't pay.
Ethan found her at the table late one night, her head resting on her folded arms, a pen slipping from her hand.
"Em," he whispered, shaking her gently.
She stirred, blinking awake. "What time is it?"
"Almost midnight." He glanced at the pile of papers in front of her. "You're still trying to figure out the bills?"
She nodded, too tired to lie.
He hesitated before sitting down across from her. His voice was low. "Emma, what if you let me and Ella get jobs? We could help."
Emma's head snapped up. "No. Absolutely not."
"But—"
"You're sixteen," she said firmly. "Your job is school. You're both smart, and you're going to college. That's the only way out of this mess."
Ethan's shoulders slumped. "But it's not fair. You're killing yourself while we just sit here."
Her chest ached at the guilt in his eyes. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I'm doing this for you. For both of you. One day you'll understand."
Ethan didn't answer. He just looked down at their joined hands, his jaw tight.
And in that silence, Emma's heart cracked a little more.
⸻
Two days later, things got worse.
Emma was on her way home when her phone buzzed. It was the landlord. She hesitated before answering, her stomach twisting.
"Ms. Johnson," the man's sharp voice barked. "Your rent is overdue again. I can't keep waiting. If you don't pay by next week, you and your family will need to find somewhere else to live."
Her breath caught. "Please, just give me a little more time. I'll—"
"I've already given you time," he cut her off. "One week. No more."
The line went dead.
Emma stood frozen on the sidewalk, the noise of the city fading around her. Her chest felt heavy, her knees weak.
One week.
One week before they lost their home.
That night, after the twins went to bed, Emma sat alone in the living room. The bills were spread out around her like a storm she couldn't escape.
She pressed her hands to her face, tears slipping through her fingers. She hated this. She hated feeling powerless, trapped.
Her thoughts drifted again—back to him.
Alexander Blackwood.
His offer echoed in her head like a whisper she couldn't silence. Six months. Pretend to be mine. And your family will be free.
She shook her head, trying to push it away. "No. I'm not for sale," she whispered fiercely.
But another voice inside her answered: What if it's the only way?
Her father's cough echoed from his room. She pictured Ethan and Ella, young and full of dreams. If they lost their home, what would happen to them? If she kept drowning in debt, how long before she broke completely?
Her pride screamed at her to hold on. To say no. To fight.
But her desperation was louder now.
She buried her face in her hands.
She didn't want this. She didn't want him. But she might not have a choice.
⸻
The next morning, Emma stood at the café counter, trying to keep her voice steady as she greeted customers. But her mind wasn't here. It was trapped in the war between her pride and her family's future.
And when the bell above the door rang, her heart stopped.
Because there he was again.
Alexander Blackwood.
Calm. Cold. Waiting.
And though Emma straightened her shoulders, ready to fight, deep down she already knew she couldn't refuse him forever.