Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
She wasn't the type to pick up unknown calls, but her father was always getting into trouble. If it was him, she couldn't ignore it. Raya answered quickly, heart already pounding.
"Hello?" she said, waiting for the other caller to speak.
"Miss Raya," came a gruff voice. One she recognized — one of the loan shark's men, the oddly polite one. "I didn't want to call, but… your father owes us again. Twenty grand this time. We've been patient, but the boss won't be, not anymore. We'll come knocking in three days. I like you, so I'm warning you — keep yourself safe. I can't promise what'll happen if the boss comes."
Raya felt the blood drain from her face. "Twenty thousand dollars? How?"
"You know how. Gambling, drinking, the usual. I'm sorry, Raya. I really am."
The line went dead.
(Why was he sorry? He didn't do anything wrong.)
She stood frozen, the city noise fading into a dull roar in her ears. Twenty thousand dollars. Three days. And she had… nothing. Just a few bucks in her pocket.
When is this cycle going to end?
Ever since the other leader — the one who had liked her — died two years ago and someone else took over, she'd been struggling. The new boss never listened to her pleas, only collected his money when it was due.
---
She walked the last few blocks to her apartment, her mind a storm.
She was going to kill him. No — she was going to beg him to stop. No — what was the point? He never listened.
She climbed the creaky stairs, pushed open the door quietly, ready to confront him. Ready to scream, to cry, to do something, anything.
But she froze just inside the doorway.
Her father's voice drifted from the kitchen, low and desperate.
"Please… just give me more time. I swear I'll get it together. I just need a little more time…"
There was a pause. Whoever was on the other end wasn't moved.
"I'll get the money! I will!" Philip's voice cracked. "Five hundred thousand isn't possible… I'll figure it out…"
Raya's heart stopped.
Five hundred thousand? Her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she might collapse.
What had he done?
This man had finally killed her.
---
Upscale Nightclub
The bass thrummed low and steady, vibrating through the walls like a second heartbeat. The club was alive — glasses clinking, bodies moving, lights dancing like fireflies above the crowd.
Victor sat in a dim corner booth, nursing his drink as laughter and music filled the air.
Across from him, his longtime friend Reese leaned forward, tone sharper than usual.
"You seriously going to sit here and do nothing?"
Victor sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "And do what, exactly?"
"Anything," Reese shot back. "You're the oldest grandson. You should be next in line. But your bastard brother's wedding is being planned while your grandfather hasn't even looked in your direction. Doesn't that say something?"
Victor clenched his jaw. "Adrian arranged his own marriage. Grandfather didn't force it."
Reese scoffed. "Exactly my point. That man doesn't wait to be chosen. He chooses. And that's why he's winning."
Another friend at the table, Kane, chimed in, eyes flickering with mischief.
"Honestly, Vic… it's either you find someone better than Seraphina Hart — or you go for Seraphina yourself."
Victor looked up slowly, a frown tugging at his brow. "Are you serious?"
Kane shrugged, tossing back a shot. "Dead serious. If that girl is the key to more power and your brother's already halfway through the door, why the hell are you just standing here watching him walk through it?"
Reese leaned back, voice low. "You don't have to destroy him. But you better start looking out for yourself. Before there's nothing left to claim."
Victor didn't respond.
He stared at his untouched drink, the ice melting quietly inside. Around them, the world moved fast — drinks flowing, laughter echoing, bodies brushing together on the dancefloor.
But inside Victor, everything was still.
Was he jealous? No. He was envious.
But more than that… he was confused. Angry. Powerless.
Everything was supposed to be his. But it all belonged to Adrian.
And worst of all — he didn't know what to do to overturn Adrian.
Not yet.
---
Raya's House
Raya stepped into the house, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. The small living room lay in dim light, the stale air thick with the scent of old smoke and hopelessness.
Then she heard it — the soft click of a phone being set down.
Philip turned, his face pale and drawn, startled to see her standing there. He hadn't realized she was home. Hoping she hadn't heard anything.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The room felt too small for both their shame.
Then Raya's eyes filled with tears — silent at first, streaming down her cheeks as the weight she'd carried alone for so long finally broke through her composure.
"Darling…" Philip's voice was hesitant, almost afraid. "What's wrong with you? Are you okay?"
Her shoulders shook as she struggled to breathe through the sobs building in her chest. She wiped her face roughly, but the tears kept falling.
"How can I be okay?" she choked out, her voice breaking, raw with exhaustion and heartbreak. "Tell me… how?"
She tried to steady herself, but the words came pouring out, years of buried pain uncoiling at last.
"Darling, did something happen?" he asked again.
"I've spent eight years of my life like this — working, doing anything, everything, breaking myself, just to keep us afloat. And for what? I can't even buy myself new clothes. I can't afford decent shoes. I don't even have proper underwear! Every cent I earn goes into covering your debts."
She spread her arms wide, as if trying to show him the emptiness she felt.
"Look at yourself! Just look in the mirror, Dad! Do you see what you've become? Every dollar I earn disappears into your gambling, your drinking, your debts that never end!"
Philip's face crumpled, his guilt written in every line.
"I… I'm sorry, Raya. I didn't mean—"
"Sorry?" Her laugh was hollow, bitter. "You're always sorry. But you never stop. You never change!"
Her voice rose, thick with tears.
"If you won't pity yourself, can't you pity me? Just once? I'm your daughter. Don't you see how tired I am already?"
Her hand went to her chest, as if trying to hold herself together.
"I'm too young for this. Too young to feel this old. My life is slipping through my fingers and I can't stop it. I work like a dog, and what am I? I am nothing but a pauper — all because of you." She broke down heavily.
Philip reached out as if to comfort her, but she recoiled, her tears falling faster.
"Tell me — did I offend you somehow? Did I do something so terrible that you'd punish me like this? If I did, I'll drop to my knees right now and beg. I'll beg, Dad. Just please… stop making my life hell."
Her eyes searched his, desperate, pleading.
"Where do you expect me to find five hundred and twenty thousand? In three days? Even if I sold my body, my soul — I couldn't get that kind of money. So tell me… what do I do now? What do you want me to do?"
Philip's voice cracked, broken by his own shame. It's seem the secret is no more a secret.
"I didn't mean for it to be like this…"
Raya wiped her face again, her hands trembling.
"That's what you always say. And yet it's always like this. You're always going back to your vomit."
She stared at him one last time — the man who had been her world, and who had shattered it again and again.
And then, without another word, she turned and ran.
The door slammed behind her, the sound ringing through the house like a final judgment.
---
Philip stood there in the silence she left behind. The slam echoed through the small, dim house like a slap across his face. Slowly, as if the weight of his own choices had finally crushed him, he sank onto the worn-out couch, his trembling hands covering his face.
He wanted to stop — if not for himself, then for his precious daughter, Raya. But somehow, no matter how many times he swore it would be the last, it kept happening. Again and again. Like a curse he couldn't break.
Every time he promised himself he'd change, he failed. And every time he failed, it was Raya — his precious daughter — who paid the price.
Around him, the house seemed to close in — the empty bottles on the table, the unpaid bills scattered like fallen leaves, the broken remnants of a life that once had hope.
He hated himself for what he'd become. But hate wasn't enough to stop him. Even his love for Raya couldn't stop him from hurting her again and again.