A Lamborghini sped off, splashing muddy water onto Nina Morrison's already drenched clothes. She sat in the dirt, her clothes clinging to her body, feeling the cold seeping in. Tears of frustration welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Grabbing the golden business card the man had tossed at her, she tried to tear it, but the thick, glossy material resisted her efforts. Even his business card mocked her!
Her phone rang suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. She shoved the card into her pocket and checked the screen. The name made her stomach twist: Doris Lauren, her stepmother.
"Nina Morrison! Do you know what time it is? Why aren't you home yet? You want us all to starve?"
Before Nina could answer, Doris's sharp voice rattled her ears. Of course, she would be home by now if it hadn't been for the accident. Her heart tightened at the thought of her bedridden father. With a grunt, she pushed herself off the ground and limped toward home, her soaked skirt clinging to her legs, and her wet hair sticking to her skin. The night wind bit at her, sending shivers down her spine.
She pushed open the creaky gate and stepped inside, her shoes squelching on the floor. As she bent to take them off, she heard the familiar angry voice coming from inside.
"Eat, eat, eat! That's all you're good for! Can't earn a dime but sure know how to pile up debts!"
Nina winced. Her stepmother was berating her father again. The words stung like a slap, but she swallowed her emotions, hurrying to change out of her wet clothes. As soon as she was dry, she darted into the kitchen, washing her hands quickly and beginning to cook. Her hands moved swiftly, years of habit guiding her through the motions.
In no time, she laid out a simple meal on the table-mixed pickles, stir-fried vegetables, and tomato egg soup, the only dish with any hint of meat. She ladled out a bowl of rice and soup, picked up some vegetables, and carried the tray to the back room.
Her father, Barry Morrison, lay on the bed, his eyes half-open, his mind foggy. Ever since the collapse of the Morrison Group and his heart attack, he had been in a semi-comatose state. Gently, Nina cradled his head and fed him spoonful by spoonful. Each labored breath he took tugged at her heart, deepening the ache inside her.
The piercing voice of her stepsister Grace cut through the silence. "Mom, we're supposed to eat this? For dinner?"
Nina glanced toward the kitchen, recognizing Grace's voice. She hadn't been around much since their father's bankruptcy. Why was she here now?
"If you don't like it, then go find yourself a rich husband. Then you can eat whatever you want," Doris snapped, her tone just as venomous with her own daughter.
After dinner, Nina washed the dishes mechanically, her mind wandering. She showered, changed into fresh clothes, and started on the pile of laundry.
"Nina! Where did you get this?" Grace's excited voice startled her.
Nina turned to see Grace holding the business card-the one from earlier. "Oh, I got hit by a car today. The driver gave me that card," Nina said nonchalantly, folding a shirt.
Grace's eyes widened. "Do you know who this is?" she nearly shrieked, waving the card like it was made of gold. "Lucien Gray! He's the president of Gray Group!"
Nina blinked, unfazed by Grace's dramatic reaction. "And?"
"The Gray Group is one of the biggest corporations in the world! They own everything-property, entertainment, oil, even military arms! Lucien Gray is the most powerful man in the world, and he's rich as sin! He's also the number one guy every woman wants to marry according to POWER magazine!"
Nina stared at her, unimpressed. Grace's enthusiasm seemed almost silly to her. So what if he was rich and powerful? "Okay. What's that got to do with me?" she asked, stifling a yawn.
Grace looked at her in disbelief. "This card means you can get into T.S. Private Club-Lucien Gray's personal hangout! Do you even know what that means?"
But Nina wasn't paying attention. There was still laundry to be done, and this conversation was wasting time. "Uh-huh," she mumbled absently, reaching for another wet garment.