Melinda curled in on herself in the corner, the dress hanging offer her as she shivered, still trembling. The concrete felt cold beneath her, unforgiving, and her sobs came in hiccups now—raw and rasping.
The door creaked open.
She didn't look up at first. But then a soft voice murmured, "Miss Brentford's request," and a pair of folded clothes was placed gently on the floor just inside the door. The man didn't linger—he backed out quickly and shut the door behind him with a soft click.
Melinda scrambled forward.
Her fingers shook as she grabbed the pile, clutching the fabric like it might vanish. She tore the velvet dress off, letting it crumple to the floor like dead weight. The shoes had already been kicked across the room. She pulled the shirt over her arms, buttoning it halfway with frantic hands. Her skin was flushed, sticky from fear and sweat.
Then—the door opened again.
She froze.
Brandi.
Standing in the doorway.
Their eyes locked. Brandi's gaze was wide—unblinking, frozen—as she registered everything.
Melinda. Barefoot. Shirt half on. Chest exposed.
Melinda screamed.
Brandi immediately slammed the door shut with a startled, stammered apology, her head bowed in shame.
A long moment passed.
Then a knock—soft, this time—preceded Brandi's reentry. She stepped inside, cautiously. Melinda now stood fully dressed, arms crossed, fury barely contained.
"Do you know where my phone is?" Melinda asked, her voice shaking but clear. "My keys? My wallet?"
Brandi blinked, still stunned, then ducked into the hallway. She returned with a purse clutched in her bloodied hand. Melinda snatched it before Brandi could say another word. She dug inside—wallet, keys—then found the phone.
Her fingers were already dialing.
"I'm calling the police," she said, screen lighting her face.
Brandi's hand snapped out, grabbing the phone midair.
"You can't," she said quickly. "Not yet. Just come home with me, okay? We'll talk. I'll explain—"
"I don't want to date you, Brandi!" Melinda shouted, shoving her. "I want to go home. I'm terrified. Do you understand that? I didn't want this—I didn't want to be sold like meat. I just wanted a stupid, harmless date, really spam calls! not this."
Her voice broke.
She pushed Brandi again—harder.
Then she ran.
Brandi's heart dropped as Melinda darted down the opposite hallway, barefoot, hair flying behind her like a ribbon of panic. Brandi bolted after her, her coat catching on a doorknob, yanking her backward. She swore and tore it off, sprinting in just her button-down and slacks.
Ahead, Melinda found the emergency exit and didn't hesitate.
She slammed through it and into darkness.
Trees. Brush. Wind.
Cold air rushed against her skin as she sprinted into the woods, toward the faint glint of headlights on a nearby road. Branches scraped her arms. Thorns snagged at her ankles. But she didn't stop.
Behind her—Brandi chased, guards rushing ahead, trying to cut Melinda off.
Brandi screamed, "Don't touch her!" but it was too late.
Melinda was tackled.
A sickening thud as her body hit the earth. She kicked. Screamed. Bit. Fought like her life depended on it—because it did. Two guards wrestled her down, dirt staining her clothes as they zip-tied her wrists and ankles.
"Stop it!" Brandi screamed, stumbling to her knees beside her. "Let me—let me—Melinda, please!"
Melinda bucked against the restraints, snot and tears running down her cheeks as she screamed in Brandi's face.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, this isn't like that," Brandi begged, her hands hovering above Melinda's shoulder, helpless. "You're safe. I just... I need you to calm down. Just breathe. Just—"
Melinda let out a sob that sounded more like a scream.
And then—crack.
She yanked her head back—and slammed it down into the ground.
Hard.
Her body went limp instantly.
"No—" Brandi gasped, crawling forward, catching Melinda's head before it could slam down a second time.
"Jesus, fuck," one guard muttered, backing off.
Brandi cradled Melinda's face in her hands, already reaching for a flashlight to check her pupils. Her breathing was shallow. Face pale. Her lashes fluttered but didn't open.
"Get the car, Now!"
Then, softer—softer than she'd ever been—she whispered, "It's okay. I've got you."
She looked up at the guards, fury rising again.
"If she has a bruise, you're going home without your kneecaps."
Brandi's arms tightened around Melinda's limp form as she carried her through the trees. Her breath trembled. Every step was a prayer, whispered in silence.
Open your eyes. Just open them.
But Melinda didn't stir.
Brandi swallowed hard, cradling her closer. Her body was warm but limp, her skin cold from the night air. It was too quiet. Too still.
This is my fault.
It didn't matter that Jonathan had made the call. That Melinda had signed up unknowingly. That Brandi hadn't known until the moment the spotlight hit her.
It didn't matter.
The car pulled up fast, headlights cutting through the woods. One of the guards jumped out and flung open the rear door, stepping back quickly when he saw Brandi's expression.
Brandi ducked in, gently laying Melinda across the leather seats, her eyes locked on the woman's slack face the whole time. She slid in beside her, shutting the door with a slam.
"Nearest hospital. Now."
The driver nodded, and the tires screeched as they tore off.
—
The hospital wasn't far. They pulled up to the emergency entrance, and Brandi was out before the car even stopped fully. She gathered Melinda in her arms again and stormed through the sliding glass doors, ignoring the stares.
"I need a room," she said to the front desk voice firm. "Now."
The nurse blinked. "What happened?"
"She fell. Hit her head. She's my—" Brandi hesitated. "She's mine. Just... she's mine. I'll pay whatever you want, just keep your mouths shut and help her."
The receptionist didn't ask more questions.
Minutes later, they were in a private exam room. A doctor, a nurse, and two assistants circled the table as Brandi stood nearby, still bleeding slightly from her arm but refusing treatment until they checked Melinda.
"She's lucky," the doctor said after a while. "No fracture. Just a nasty blow. She passed out from the shock. She'll wake up soon."
He handed Brandy a bottle of pain meds. "Only if she needs it."
Brandi nodded, barely hearing him. "Thank you," she murmured.
Then she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her checkbook.
One by one, she wrote them each a check for three thousand dollars. "For your silence. Your help. And your loyalty."
They took the checks without protest.
And just as she handed the last one to the doctor, Melinda stirred.
She groaned.
Brandi nearly dropped to her knees.
She shoved the check into the doctor's hand and pushed him out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
"Melinda," she breathed, dropping beside the hospital bed. "Hey—hey, it's okay."
Melinda recoiled instinctively, her back pressing into the pillow. Her eyes were wide, terrified, scanning the room.
"Don't—don't hurt me," she whispered.
"I won't," Brandi said quickly, holding her hands up in surrender. "No one will."
Melinda said nothing.
Brandi's voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I didn't want it to go this way. I didn't want it to go any way like this. But I had to do something. I couldn't let him have you."
Still, silence.
So Brandi sighed, pulling the chair closer. She sat down slowly, like one sudden move would break the last thread between them.
"You're coming to my place," she said gently. "Just for now. You'll have your own room. You'll eat. Sleep. Shower. Rest. No one will touch you. Not even me."
Melinda swallowed hard. Her voice shook as she asked, "What happens to me now? My job? My apartment? My life?"
Brandi looked at her, the pain behind her eyes barely contained. "I don't know yet. But I promise I'll help you figure it out. You're not trapped. You're not a prisoner."
Melinda's eyes darted away. Her throat worked around the lump forming there.
"Why?" she asked. "Why buy me at all if you...?"
Brandi answered without hesitation. "Because it was me or him. And I also believe I can make you love me"
That made Melinda freeze.
She searched Brandi's face—deep, slow, silent. And for the first time... something shifted.
The ice cracked. Just a little.
It wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. But it was understandable.
And Brandi saw it.
She stood slowly and extended her hand. "Come on. I'll take you home. Tomorrow, we'll go to your place. Get some things."
Melinda stared at the hand. Then her brow furrowed.
"I have work tomorrow."
Brandi's mouth twitched. "Susie will have to manage without you for a day."
Melinda hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached forward and took Brandi's hand.
The hospital fell far behind them as they walked in silence back to the car. Melinda sat as far from Brandi as the plush back seat would allow. Her body curled slightly toward the window, and Brandi sat still, hands folded neatly in her lap.
After a few minutes, Brandi asked quietly, "What would your ideal date look like?"
Melinda scoffed softly. "Not this."
Brandi smirked faintly. "Fair."
"I don't want to be part of... your world," Melinda added after a moment. "If it's anything like what I've been through, seen—what Susie said you were like..." Her voice trailed off.
Brandi's jaw tightened. "Susie's a bitch."
That ended the conversation.
Twenty minutes passed in heavy silence before the car pulled up outside Brandi's estate. Melinda started, eyes wide. It wasn't what she expected. It wasn't flashy—it was tastefully expensive. The kind of quiet wealth that didn't scream, but spoke in tailored curtains and handcrafted stone. Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around them. Brandi didn't speak—just led Melinda down a quiet hallway and opened a guest bedroom.
It was simple. Clean. Nicer than Melinda's apartment.
She handed Melinda a set of fresh, comfortable clothes—a soft lounge set in neutral tones, cozy socks, a towel, basic toiletries.
Melinda paused at the doorway, her expression unreadable. "Thank you."
Brandi returned a quiet smile. "Get some rest. I'll be in my office."
When the door clicked shut, Brandi leaned against it, eyes closed.
Her pulse pounded like a warning in her ears. Jonathan was on the thinnest ice of his life. And everything Brandi had once planned—carefully, coldly—had been shattered by a woman with tired eyes and trembling hands. The perfect woman already inside Hillsdale, but she'd never use Melinda, not when Melinda saw her as a monster.
Not when Melinda saw her shoot someone in cold blood, or had she? None of that mattered though... Brandi had to fix this, Brandi had to.
She couldn't just dangle freedom in front of Melinda. She couldn't force her hand like Susie seemed to live doing. She wouldn't.
She pulled out her phone and texted a number she rarely used.
Drop's been confirmed? Ten correct. atonement.
& send the eleven point five mil within 48 hours, payment.
They're not to ask for more.
Then she shoved the phone into her pocket, crossed the hall into her kitchen, and poured herself a deep glass of wine.
It wasn't the drink she needed—it was the control.
In her office, she flicked on her projector, Hillsdale's numbers. Brandi sat before the data, eyes narrowing. Projection reports. Market estimates. Acquisition blueprints. All projections, none of it real... yet.
She had everything she needed to absorb Hillsdale—except a way around Susie. The woman was venom in a silk sheath. Pressing buttons just to see what they did.
Especially with Melinda. The way she grabbed at any part of Melinda she could get her withered hands on and sucked her in with every kiss.
Brandi's jaw tightened as she stared at the numbers, but her thoughts wandered to Melinda curled up just down the hall.
Susie was using her, for something, and to Brandi, Melinda was painfully easy
—
The water had long gone lukewarm, but Susie barely noticed. She sat in the tub, phone clutched in her damp hand, thumb redialing and redialing.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
And again.
She cursed under her breath, tossing the phone onto a towel across the tile floor with a wet slap. Melinda never ignored her like this. Not without texting. Not without some kind of excuse.
She tried to reason with herself.
Maybe she really was busy with friends.
Maybe she'd just turned her phone off.
But the knot in her gut refused to loosen.
With a frustrated grunt, she grabbed the nearest folder sitting on the bathroom counter—investment reports she'd brought home to distract herself.
Clean, crisp numbers. Positive trends. Perfect on paper.
The investments were shaping up beautifully—just a week in, already strong enough that she'd be able to pull out the full amount by the end of the month.
Get clear of the debts.
Start fresh.
She flipped the papers, absently scanning the figures, until her gaze snagged on the name printed neatly at the top of every document:
Melinda Carter.
Her stomach twisted tighter.
Every investment. Every transaction. Every risk. All run under Melinda's name. Her credentials. Her work authorization. Forged signatures.
If anything went wrong, if anything slipped through the cracks—it would all fall on Melinda.
Not her.
That had been the plan.
A perfect fall girl.
Untouched. Unaware.
Susie pressed her fingertips into her temples and exhaled shakily.
Just a few more weeks, she reminded herself.
Cash out. Pay off everyone. No trails left behind. No... blood spilled.
She had to get out. Had to make a junior partner somehow. Harvey hadn't been planning to leave his spot at Hillsdale anytime soon, until he caught a bullet four years ago outside the building. His blood still stained the sidewalk if you knew where to look.
Harvey's death opened doors.
And Melinda, sweet, oblivious Melinda, had joined the company less than a year later.
Perfect timing. Perfect pawn.
Susie reached for her phone again, hand trembling slightly.
Before she could hit redial, the screen lit up.
Debt Collectors.
Her blood iced over.
She answered on the first ring.
"H-hello?"
There was no greeting.
Just a long, lazy breath on the other end.
Then:
"Tick-tock, sweetheart."
Susie squeezed her eyes shut. "I told you, my investment term closes at the end of the month. The funds will clear. You'll get every cent. Full checks, three of them. Marked for home improvement—"
"You think we give a fuck about your paperwork?" the man on the line sneered. "You think this is about your pretty checks?"
Her throat dried out.
The voice lowered, oozing satisfaction.
"We know about her."
Susie's heart stuttered.
"Melinda Carter. That sweet little thing you keep tucked under your arm. The one 'helping' you get our money."
"No—she doesn't—" Susie rasped.
"We know she doesn't know," the man cut her off. "But you do. And if you don't get our money soon, it'll be her blood in the street next to Harvey's. So make sure that money gets here by the end of the month, we been waiting years lady... generosity runs out, just like those favors"
Susie's entire body locked up.
"She's got... maybe a week til the month ends, you promised."
The line clicked dead.
Susie sat frozen, the phone sliding from her fingers into the bathwater with a soft plop.
Melinda wasn't answering her calls.
Melinda was alone.
Melinda was vulnerable.
And now they knew about her.
Now they had a target.
A cold, choking panic climbed up Susie's throat as she stared blankly ahead at the flickering bathroom light.
Something had already happened.
Or it was happening right now.
Susie shot out of the bathtub like she'd been set on fire.
The phone was still submerged, screen flickering beneath the surface. She yanked it out, barely caring if it worked. Water sloshed onto the tile as she fumbled for a towel, drying her body in frantic, half-finished passes. Her hair soaked her shirt as she pulled it on backwards, tore it off, and threw on another. Her hands shook so badly she missed the first loop of her belt. No time. No time.
She grabbed her keys, still barefoot, and jammed her feet into the first pair of flats she found.
Her tires squealed as she peeled out of her driveway.
Melinda's address burned in her mind—it was on the investment documentation. She'd stared at it enough times, forging enough signatures to recite it in her sleep.
She reached the building in under ten minutes, nearly running a red light in the process. Parked on the curb. Bolted through the front door without buzzing.
Melinda lived on the third floor.
Susie took the stairs two at a time, breath ragged, heartbeat loud in her ears.
She reached the door and knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Then slammed her palm against it. "Melinda?!"
No answer.
"Melinda—are you home?! It's me! It's Susie! Please—open the door!" Her voice cracked with desperation.
Still nothing.
She pressed her forehead to the wood, then pulled back and started dialing. Her thumb hovered on the call button. Pick up, pick up, please pick up—
"Melinda, please," she said into the silence. "Just let me know you're okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I'll explain everything, just please answer me."
A door creaked behind her.
Susie turned sharply.
An older woman stood in a doorway across the hall, bathrobe tied tightly around her waist, brows furrowed.
"Everything alright, miss?" she asked, cautious.
Susie stepped toward her like she was drowning. "Do you know Melinda's home? Melinda Carter? Apartment 304? I—I'm her boss, and I've been trying to reach her all night and she hasn't answered—have you heard anything?"
The woman looked over at her carefully. "You her boss?"
"Yes, I swear, I'm just worried. Really worried. Something might've happened—please."
The neighbor hesitated, then shook her head. "I haven't seen her since earlier today. Maybe a few hours ago. She left with a small bag. Looked like she was going somewhere for the night. She didn't seem scared or anything. Just... fancy looking."
Susie exhaled, nodding, trying not to break in front of a stranger. "Okay. Okay. Thank you."
She lingered just long enough to add a soft, "I'm sorry," before rushing back down the stairs.
Outside, she stopped next to her car.
Looked up.
Melinda's window was dark. No lights. No shadow passing. No warmth spilling out onto the street.
At least there weren't any police cars.
No sirens.
No ambulances.
No tape.
Yet.
Still shaking, Susie slid into her car and gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing tethering her to Earth. Her foot hovered over the gas pedal for a moment too long before she finally pressed it.
Home was colder than usual.
She stripped off her damp clothes and collapsed into bed without bothering to brush her hair or plug in her phone. It sat beside her on the pillow—silent.
She stared at it until sleep crept up on her.
Restless.
Uneasy.
Filled with visions of empty windows, and Melinda's voice that never answered back.
—
The morning light filtered in soft and golden, but Melinda's eyes snapped open like it was a gunshot.
She sat up in the unfamiliar bed, warmth cocooning her in a way that only made the panic worse. It was too perfect. Too silent. Too still.
Where was Brandi?
She peeled back the thick comforter, careful not to make a sound. Her feet met the plush carpet, and she padded to the bedroom door. Slowly, she eased it open. Her head peeked into the hall—empty.
No footsteps. No voices.
Melinda slipped out, silent as a shadow.
She wasn't headed for the front door. Not yet. She needed her phone, her purse, anything that could help her get out.
She crept down the stairs, the mansion yawning wide around her—too open and yet claustrophobic. Room after room. Marble, wood, velvet. Wealth like she'd never seen up close. It wasn't comfortable. It was a cage with golden bars.
Then she found it—a study. The door was slightly ajar.
She pushed it open and stepped inside.
Projector still on. Charts glowing against the far wall.
Hillsdale.
Investment reports. Numbers. Forecasts. Names.
She stared, breath caught in her throat. Susie had been right. Brandi was planning to absorb the company. The projections were clear. Timelines. Buyout strategies. Even notes on Susie's partners.
And Melinda's name—listed under personnel breakdown.
Like a piece of property.
Her heart thudded. She turned—
And there it was. Her purse. On a bookshelf, tucked between books like it was nothing.
She nearly cried with relief.
She tore it open, pulled her phone free. 5% battery.
She called the first number she saw.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
"Melinda?" Susie's voice burst through the speaker, sharp with panic. "Are you alright? I've been calling all night—what happened? Where are you?!"
Melinda's voice cracked. "She bought me. Brandi Brentford—she bought me."
"What—?"
"I thought it was fake. I thought it was a joke. I signed up thinking it was nothing, and then they put a hood on me, Susie. They changed my clothes. They sold me, she shot somebody!—I don't know where I am, and I don't know what she's planning, I just—"
"Okay, okay, baby, breathe," Susie said quickly. "Listen to me—can you see a road? Go to a window. Look out."
Melinda, clutching her purse, ran to the nearest window.
The sun hit her like a hammer.
Her head throbbed—the bruising from the night before pulsing under her scalp. She blinked through the pain and searched the horizon.
Trees. Endless trees.
But there—far off—was a strip of gray.
"I see a road? Maybe?" she whispered. "I think I can make it."
"No," Susie snapped. "Not now. Stay put. I'll—"
But Melinda was already moving.
She bolted to the back door.
Twisted the lock.
Cracked it open—
Ding.
A door chime echoed from the front of the house.
"What?" Brandi's voice called out.
Melinda froze.
Then she ran.