I barely sleep.
Micah's still in jail.
My chest tightens.
I grab my phone. Messages from the station and from Bella. Dante Cross's deadline flashes in my mind - two days. A headache blooms behind my eyes, and my hand trembles. I take slow breaths, squeezing my eyes shut. There is no time to sit back and think. Bella's suggestions from yesterday replay in my head. I should try, at least.
I pull my laptop closer and type Micah's story, careful not to say too much. I hesitate, then take a deep breath and hit 'post'.
The first donations are tiny. Pity money. Pity comments.
"Is this legit?"
"Scam"
I refresh the page obsessively. The amount raised is depressing compared to fifty million. I sigh loudly and throw my head back, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I shouldn't have posted this. I cover my face with my hands.
I tried a loan site, and the agent isn't even encouraging. They laughed me out and at the price I had called.
I dig through my drawer and find my old notepad, flipping through pages, for old schoolmate's contacts. I messaged each of them, swallowing my pride as I begged for help. They leave me on read. Some throw insults. One of them even suggests I sell my body.
That breaks something in me. I slam the laptop shut.
Bella calls to check on me. I lie and say I'm fine. She has her own problems - I've burdened her enough already.
I stare at my failed attempts and let out a frustrated scream, anger burning in my chest. Angry at the world.
I decided to visit Micah with food.
*****************************
"I'm sorry, Alondra. For putting you through this. I don't want you to ruin your life for me, "
"Stop it, you said you didn't do it, and I believe you. I'm not going to let you rot in here for something you didn't do. "
"And I can't let you get married to Dante Cross for my sake. I will feel guilty for the rest of my life, "
My heart cracks. "It's just for a year, Micah." I grab his hand.
He stares at me, tears in his eyes, jaw clenched as he looks away, trying not to let me see him break.
"A lot can happen in a year, Alondra,"
The words hit harder than he intended. He's thinking about our parents. About how quickly life can take everything away. I look down, squeezing his hand, then gently caress his cheek.
"I promise to get you out of here soon and find whoever did this to you,"
He breaks down, dropping his head on my shoulder. I hold him, tears sliding freely down my cheek.
"It'll be okay." I whisper. "I promise. I'll find another way. "
What if Dante is the only way?
*************************
I walk out of the station and dial the lawyer. The line connects on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Miss Hale, I heard the appointment with Dante Cross didn't go as planned,"
I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "He's striking a crazy deal. I can't do it. "
He sighs. "You want your brother out of there as soon as possible, don't you?"
"Yes," I answer, firmly.
"Fifty million dollars isn't easy money. You don't expect the solution to be easy either. As hard as it sounds- if you're willing to do anything for your brother, a one-year contract marriage should not be difficult. " I stare blankly at the ground and end the call. I hate to admit it, but he was right.
That night, I paced my room until my feet ached. The walls feel too close, the silence too loud. I try to pray, but every time I close my eyes, Dante Cross's voice cuts through my thoughts. His office. His calm cruelty. The way he said prison like it was nothing.
I hate that he's in my head. I hate that part of me is starting to believe he's right.
I sit on the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. My phone vibrates, and another message from the station reminds me of visiting hours and bail conditions. The words blur. I swipe the notification away and stare at the floor, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
I get up and open my wardrobe, rummaging through my things like money might magically fall out. Old clothes, old books. A pair of shoes I barely wear. I line a few items on my bed and take pictures to post online. The offers that come in are insulting. Someone offers to "help" if I'm willing to be "flexible." I block the number and throw my phone onto the mattress.
Hope is starting to feel like a luxury I can't afford. A knock lands on my door.
Bella steps in with a small food pack in her hands, her eyes scanning my room before settling on my face. "You look like hell." She says softly.
"I feel like it," I reply.
She drops the food on the table and pulls me into a hug before I can protest. I don't realize how much I need it until my body sags into hers.
"Did anything work?" she asks when we pull apart.
I shake my head. "No loans, no help. People think I'm lying. One idiot told me to sell my body. "
Bella's jaw tightens. "People are disgusting."
We sit on the edge of my bed. The silence stretches.
"You're really thinking about his offer, aren't you?" she asks quietly.
I flinch. "No."
She looks at me. The kind of look that says she knows I'm lying.
"If you do this," Bella says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm scared for you."
"I'm already scared," I snap, then soften when I see the hurt in her eyes. "Every minute Micah stays in there feels like I'm failing him."
Bella reaches for my hand. "I don't want to lose you to save him."
Her words lodge in my chest. I don't answer because I don't know how to promise something I might not be able to keep.
After she leaves, I sit alone in the dim light of my room. I pull Dante's card from my bag and place it on the bed. The gold glistening gleams, arrogant even in the dark.
I type the number into my phone...Delete it.
Type it again... Delete.
My hands are shaking. I check the time. The deadline is creeping closer.
I push the card aside and stand, needing air. The window is open, but the night breeze does nothing to cool the fire in my chest. The city hums outside—laughter from somewhere down the street, the distant blare of a horn.
Life is moving on, indifferent to the fact that my world is collapsing in slow motion.
I lean my forehead against the glass and let myself remember Micah as a kid, trailing behind me with scraped knees and a stubborn grin. The boy who used to steal mangoes from the neighbour's yard and swear he didn't do it even when the juice was still on his chin. He was reckless, yes—but cruel? No. A thief of fifty million? My stomach twists.
My phone lights up again. Another message from the station. Visiting hours tomorrow. This is a reminder I didn't ask for. I type a reply I don't send. What would I even say? Please keep my brother safe while I figure out whether to sell my future for his freedom?
I sink onto the floor, back against the bed, and drag in slow breaths. My chest aches with the weight of choices I never wanted to make. Somewhere between fear and exhaustion, a bitter thought slips in—Dante Cross didn't even look like he enjoyed hurting me. He looked… bored. Like this was business. Like people's desperation was just another transaction.
That's what terrifies me most.
I pick up the card again, tracing the embossed letters with my thumb. The edges bite into my skin, sharp and unforgiving. I imagine walking back into that office. The cold smile. The contract is waiting on the table. The red-suited woman's eyes stripped me bare.
I close my eyes, forcing the image away. There has to be another way.
But the words sound hollow, even to me.
The card is there like a loaded weapon- and I'm the one deciding who it will destroy.
The card is there like a loaded weapon- and I'm the one deciding who it will destroy.