Elena stayed frozen long after he walked out, her hands still resting on the cool edge of the table. She stood in the middle of her living room, perfectly still, her eyes locked on the black card resting on the side table like a shadow. Amid the jumble of her life, it lay there—a flawless rectangle of matte black, as still and impenetrable as midnight. It drank in the light around it, like a tiny black hole swallowing gold and influence whole. In her cramped, peeling-walled apartment, it loomed like an obscenity—both a promise and a threat you could almost touch. At last, with her legs trembling like leaves in a breeze, she stepped toward it. She kept her hands back, the cool glass just inches from her fingertips. She glanced up, eyes catching the thin beam of light spilling through the doorway. No numbers, no name—just a blank surface without even a magnetic strip. The metal lay smooth and unbroken, its surface cold as ice and just as unwelcoming. At the center lay a faintly embossed crest, so subtle you could miss it—a snarling wolf's head ringed by a thin crescent moon. It stood for a world she'd never been part of, one now closing in around her like dark water pulling at her ankles. Rage slammed into her like cold surf, stealing her breath. The man's arrogance was staggering—like he owned the air we breathed. To step into her home, spill her life's rawest wounds like broken glass on the table, and then offer this—this so‑called solution. He moved among them like a god, quietly shifting the pieces of their lives as if setting stones in a garden path. He didn't offer a partnership—he handed over a contract that claimed everything as his. She gave up her freedom to protect her mother's health, trading late-night walks for hours at her bedside. She'd trade her life for his without hesitation. She paced the cramped room, her footsteps sharp against the wooden floor, like a caged animal straining for the open air. She remembered the past—the shadows she'd fled, the cold alleys they'd hidden in, and the reason they now lived poor and unseen. He already knew, the way you know the smell of rain before it hits the ground. His words carried a veiled threat that lingered in her mind—men from your past… The offer wasn't a gilded cage; it was a fortress with cold, unyielding walls. Some small, loathsome part of her longed for the promise of absolute safety, like a locked door she might never have to open. But what's the price for that? So I'm just supposed to belong to him, like a book he keeps on a dusty shelf? To spend every day under the sway of that fierce, possessive man with eyes like molten gold? She could still feel the heat of his hand on her cheek, that sharp, electric sting reminding her just how much power he had—power that reached far past money. Her mother's faint rustle in the bedroom—like fabric brushing over wood—slipped through her thoughts and broke the storm inside her. Elena took a steady breath, swiping the hot sting of tears from her cheeks before she shoved the door open. Her mother, Sarah, sat propped against the pillows, a faint smile trembling on her pale lips."Elena, honey. "Elena, sweetheart.""I had the sweetest dream," I said.
"Oh yeah?" Elena's voice caught, low and warm, and she prayed her mother wouldn't hear the tremor."Mmmhmm," Sarah murmured, her eyes drifting towards the window. "We were somewhere warm. She perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped her fingers around her mother's thin, cool hand."Mmmhmm," Sarah murmured, her gaze sliding to the rain-speckled window. The air wrapped around us like a soft blanket, and it was warm."You look so tired, my love. Down by the sea, waves hissed against the rocks."Everything's fine, Mom," she said, forcing a bright smile. "Just a long night."
Sarah squeezed her hand. "You work too hard for me. You laughed—deep and full, the kind that shakes your shoulders."You haven't laughed like that in ages." Her gaze flicked to Elena, and a shadow of worry dimmed the light in her eyes. You look exhausted, my love, like you've been carrying the day on your shoulders. Every lie she'd ever told her mother—about the steady job, the full bank account, the smile she wore at Sunday dinner—felt small next to the one she was about to step into."Everything's fine, Mom," she said, her smile stretched a little too tightly."It was just a long night," Sarah said, giving her hand a warm squeeze. You put in more effort than I can keep up with. I just want to see you smile. The words cut into Elena like a knife, sharp and cold, as if they meant for her to live a life entirely her own. To live a life that's truly yours, like choosing your own path through a quiet, sunlit street. She was seconds from signing it away—the one thing she still clutched like a worn photograph. She met her mother's weary gaze, noticed the thin blue veins tracing her pale skin, and felt the final walls inside her give way. How could she bear it, knowing she'd had even the smallest chance to save this dear woman, yet let her own pride slam the door shut? Damien was a monster—sharp smile, eyes like cold steel—offering a devil's bargain. But he was the only one holding out a miracle, like a single candle in the dark. She'd lost control of her life years ago, back when the days blurred together like rain on glass. It was simply another form of servitude, like carrying someone else's heavy coat all day. She stayed with her mother the rest of the day, talking softly, reading aloud from a worn book, and holding on to the gentle hush between them. All the while, the sun inched west, sending thin beams through the dusty pane and ticking off the minutes until her deadline. Dusk crept in, draping the city in long purple shadows, and Elena felt the final moment close in. Her mother had dozed off again, her breathing slow and steady in the quiet room. Elena rose from her chair and stepped back into the living room, the carpet soft under her feet. The black card still lay on the table, waiting like it had all the time in the world. She'd made up her mind hours earlier, the instant her mother's warm smile reached her eyes. She lifted it carefully, her fingers steady as if balancing a glass of water. It felt heavier than it seemed, the chill biting into her palm. It was what her mother's life had cost—every last penny, like the clink of coins on a cold table. Her soul carried a weight, heavy as a stone in her chest. She had no idea what to do with it—or how to show she was saying yes—so she just held it, feeling its weight in her palm. No one left any instructions—just a blank page staring back.