SIX MONTHS EARLIER
(ESTHER'S POV)
My name is Esther Collins. Six months ago, my dad's debts broke our family.
People say the worst thing is when someone dies. They are wrong. The worst part comes after. The problems stay behind like dark shadows that won't go away.
My dad died on a Tuesday. By Thursday, people he owed money to started calling and calling. They wanted their money back right now.
Before you get mad at what I did later, I want you to know how hard those six months were. I really tried my best. I did not give up easily.
My dad's name was Robert Collins. He was not rich. He did not wear nice suits or drive big cars. But to me, he was the best dad in the world.
He had a small restaurant called Collins Kitchen. It had only twelve tables and a tiny kitchen. The smell of food was always there.
I grew up in that restaurant. I watched Dad cook. I watched him smile even when he was very tired. I sat on the counter and counted money while he closed the shop at night.
I still remember my mom singing quietly while she cleaned the tables. She thought no one could hear her.
That little restaurant held all our happy days.
When Dad died, I lost more than just him. I lost our whole happy world. It happened on a Tuesday evening in November. That morning he called me.
"Do you want dinner?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, smiling.
"Would you be free at seven o'clock?" he said.
"Okay, seven," I answered.
I did not know it was the last time I would hear his voice.
When I got to the restaurant at seven, there were loud sirens and bright lights everywhere. My heart already felt scared.
They said he had a heart attack. It was so fast. No warning at all.
The next morning I sat in our kitchen holding cold tea. My phone kept ringing but I did not want to answer. The sun came up like nothing bad happened. People outside were laughing and walking around. Life just kept going.
That day I learned something sad — the world does not stop when you are hurting.
The first call I answered was from the bank. Dad had borrowed a lot of money to save the restaurant. He never told me or Mom because he did not want us to worry.
Now all that debt was on me. I was only twenty-five and I did not know what to do with so much money trouble.
Then, three weeks after the funeral, Mom got very sick. The doctor said it was because she was too sad and stressed. She needed to go to a special place for care. It cost a lot of money, but I had to do it. She was all I had left.
That was when Joseph started helping.
Joseph was my dad's old friend and business partner. We always saw him as family. When Dad started the restaurant, Joseph helped him.
After Dad died, Joseph became like a new dad to me. He brought food when I forgot to eat. He sat with Mom when I was busy. He listened when I cried in his car.
His kindness was the only thing that kept me from falling apart.
---
I walked into Gideon's big house with one small suitcase and almost no trust.
The house smelled like expensive leather and shiny wood. It felt cold. I stood at the door for a long time looking around. Everything was marble and quiet. The city looked far away through the big windows.
"Welcome home," Gideon said. His voice sounded flat, like he did not really mean it.
I whispered "home" to myself.
He did not say anything else. He just turned and walked. I followed him because I had nowhere else to go.
My shoes made loud clicks on the floor. It felt too noisy in such a quiet house.
He stopped at a big door and opened it.
"This is your room," he said.
The room was huge. There was a very big bed with clean white sheets. The walls were plain and everything looked perfect and expensive.
I put my suitcase down. Through the window I could see the whole city shining with lights. All those people had no idea I had just sold eighteen months of my life to survive.
"You can unpack later," Gideon said and left.
The door closed with a small click. The room became so quiet I could hear my own breathing.
I sat on the cold bed and thought about Mom. She was sleeping in the care place with machines beeping around her. She did not know what I had done to keep her safe there.
I rubbed my eyes hard. I remembered Dad once told me, "Esther, never let anyone take your pride away, even when things are falling apart." He always said it with a smile.
But pride cannot pay hospital bills. I learned that the hard way.
I stood up and started unpacking. Dinner was at exactly seven.
The dining room was very big. The table was long and the lights were dim. Our plates were set far apart at opposite ends.
Gideon was already sitting there. We did not talk for a long time. I could hear the spoons and forks moving.
The food was nice but I did not feel like eating. I just moved the chicken around my plate.
"You are not really eating," he said.
"I am," I answered.
"You have moved that same chicken four times," he said with a little smile.
I put my fork down. "I am not very hungry."
He just shrugged and kept eating.
It made me a little angry. "Is every dinner going to be like this?" I asked.
"Like what?" he said.
"Quiet. Sitting so far apart. No talking at all."
"We do not have to talk," he said.
"I know. But is this all there is?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Do you want something different?"
I did not know what to say. So I said, "Never mind."
Later I stood by the big window in the living room looking at the city lights.
I heard his footsteps. He came in holding one piece of paper. He put it on the table and tapped it.
"Your schedule and the house rules," he said. "You must follow them."
I looked at the paper. It had times for breakfast, rules about guests, places I could go, and what to wear.
"Breakfast at seven," he said. "No visitors without asking me first. When we go out—"
"Stop!" I shouted. I could not hold my anger anymore.
Gideon raised one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
I stood up. My hands were shaking. "Who do you think you are? You give me rules like I am your worker. Am I your wife or am I your prisoner?"
The room became very quiet.
Gideon looked straight at me. His voice was cold. "You signed the contract. You live in my house. You use my name. You follow the rules. Do not question me."
I laughed but it sounded sad. "Is that all I am? Just rules on a paper?"
"You had no other choice," he said.
Something inside me broke. I raised my hand fast to slap him.
His hand caught my wrist before it could touch his face. He held it tight and pulled me a little closer. I had to look up at him.
For one second everything felt strange. His eyes looked different. Not angry — something else. The air felt thick.
He let go quickly and stepped far back.
"Don't ever do that again," he said quietly.
"Then don't treat me like I am a chair or a table," I said.
He stood there for a moment like he was thinking hard. Then he picked up the paper, folded it, and put it down again.
"The rules are to protect both of us," he said in a softer voice. "Not to make you feel bad."
I looked at him. "Then talk to me like a normal person."
He was quiet for a while. "Tomorrow," he said at last. Then he walked out of the room.
I stood there alone. My wrist still felt warm where he had held it. I touched it gently.
I sat on the sofa. The city lights kept shining outside like nothing happened. But something between us felt different now.
I had not pulled my hand away when he caught it. For one scary second I wanted to know what was behind his eyes.
I covered my face with my hands. "Stop it, Esther!" I whispered to myself.
He is not a good man. He used my problems to make me sign that paper. Whatever I felt just now was only because I was tired and scared.
I have to remember why I am here — for my mom, for the bills, for our family.
I picked up my phone to set my alarm. A new message came.
It was from Joseph.
"So… you finally married him?"
My stomach felt sick. How did he know? No one was supposed to know yet. The wedding was secret. We had not even finished the papers.
How did Joseph already know?
I put the phone down and sat very still.
That question kept going round and round in my head.
How did he know?