Serena didn't sleep.
She lay on her bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling as shadows shifted with the passing headlights outside. Every sound felt louder than it should have been, the ticking clock, the distant siren, the neighbor's television murmuring through the wall.
Tomorrow night.
The words echoed in her mind like a sentence handed down by a judge.
She rolled onto her side, curling in on herself. Her phone lay on the bedside table, screen dark, silent. No new messages. No instructions yet.
Just the waiting.
Her chest tightened as her thoughts spiraled. She replayed the moment she'd typed okay, the way her finger had hovered over the screen, trembling. She remembered the hollow feeling afterward, like something vital had drained out of her.
You had no choice, she told herself.
But the lie didn't comfort her the way it usually did.
She pushed herself up and paced the apartment, bare feet cold against the floor. The letter still sat on the kitchen table, folded neatly, as if mocking her restraint.
One evening of your time.
She laughed quietly, the sound brittle.
They made it sound so clean. So simple.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, and without warning, memory surged forward, sharp and uninvited.
She was sixteen again.
Rain streaked the windshield as the car skidded, the sound of metal screaming against metal filling the air. Her mother's gasp. Her father's hand reaching for hers.
Then nothing.
After that, there had been hospitals. Funerals. The heavy quiet of an empty house.
And Mrs. Evelyn Carter.
A woman who wasn't supposed to take her in. Who didn't have to. Who already lived modestly, carefully. But she had opened her door anyway, her voice gentle but firm.
You'll be safe here, Serena.
She had been.
Loved. Protected. Given a chance to grow into something other than grief.
Serena's throat burned as she leaned against the counter, gripping its edge.
I owe her everything.
The morning came too quickly.
Serena showered longer than usual, scrubbing her skin as if she could wash away the decision clinging to her. She dressed carefully, choosing clothes that made her feel smaller, less noticeable.
At the hospital, Mrs. Carter was awake, her eyes clearer than they'd been in days.
"You look pale," she said softly.
Serena forced a smile and took her hand. "Did you sleep okay?"
"A little." Mrs. Carter studied her face. "Something's wrong."
Serena shook her head too quickly. "I'm just tired."
Mrs. Carter sighed, fingers tightening weakly around Serena's. "You don't have to protect me all the time."
The words struck too close.
Serena swallowed hard. "I know."
But she did.
She always had.
When she left the hospital, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
Car will arrive at 8:00 PM.
Wear something simple.
No phone. No questions.
She stared at the screen, pulse roaring in her ears.
No questions.
She wanted to scream them anyway. Who? Where? What exactly was expected of her?
But she typed nothing.
At the bookstore, Serena moved through her shift like a ghost. She miscounted change once, knocked over a stack of books another time. Her manager noticed.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
"Yes," she said automatically.
Another lie.
By the time evening approached, dread settled heavy in her bones. She returned home early, locking the door behind her and leaning against it as if she needed the support.
She opened her closet and stared.
Wear something simple.
Her hands hovered over dresses she rarely wore, fingers brushing fabric she usually saved for imagined futures, dates, celebrations, moments she'd always assumed would come.
She chose a dark, modest dress. Knee-length. Long sleeves. Nothing that invited attention.
She braided her hair, then undid it, then braided it again.
At 7:58 PM, headlights swept across her window.
Serena's breath hitched.
She checked herself in the mirror one last time. Her face looked calm, but her eyes betrayed her, wide, uncertain, afraid.
She grabbed her coat and stepped outside.
The car was black. Sleek. Expensive.
The door opened before she reached it.
No driver spoke to her. He simply nodded once and gestured inside.
Serena slid into the backseat, heart hammering as the door closed with a final, ominous click.
As the car pulled away, she stared out the window, watching her neighborhood disappear behind them.
This was it.
Across the city, Dante Moretti stood in his penthouse, hands clasped behind his back, watching the live feed from the car's interior.
There she was.
Quiet. Still. Composed in a way that belied the storm inside her.
"She agreed," Marco said unnecessarily.
Dante didn't look away. "I know."
He felt something tighten in his chest, not satisfaction, not triumph.
Something darker.
"She thinks she's walking into a transaction," Marco continued carefully.
"And she is," Dante said.
But even as he spoke, he knew it wasn't that simple.
Serena stared at her hands folded in her lap. She didn't cry. She didn't panic. She focused on breathing, on staying present.
This was just one night.
That was the bargain she repeated like a prayer.
When the car stopped, she looked up.
The building loomed tall and silent, glass reflecting the city lights like an unblinking eye.
The doors opened.
A man in a suit waited, expression unreadable. "This way, Miss Hale."
Her name sent a chill through her.
She followed him inside, the elevator ride silent, the ascent smooth and relentless. Each floor felt like another step away from who she'd been that morning.
The doors opened onto a space that took her breath away.
Luxury surrounded her, dark marble, soft lighting, vast windows overlooking the city.
And then she felt it.
That sensation again.
The unmistakable awareness of being watched.
"You may wait here," the man said, gesturing to a seating area before leaving.
Serena stood alone.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure it could be heard.
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.
I can still leave, she thought.
The door was still there.
But then she remembered the hospital bills. Mrs. Carter's fragile smile.
Her feet didn't move.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Slow. Unhurried.
She turned.
He stood a few feet away, tall and composed, dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs.
The man from the hospital.
Understanding crashed into her all at once, sharp, terrifying, undeniable.
"You," she whispered.
Dante Moretti said nothing at first. He simply looked at her, gaze sweeping over her as if committing her to memory.
"Yes," he said finally.
Her hands trembled. "This was you."
"It was," he replied calmly.
Anger flared through her fear. "You knew. You watched me."
"Yes."
Her breath came fast. "You let me think I had no choice."
Dante stepped closer, not invading her space, but close enough that she felt his presence like gravity.
"You didn't," he said quietly. "You chose."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
Serena's chest ached as she stared up at him, fury and shame tangling painfully inside her.
And somewhere beneath it all, something else stirred.
Something she didn't want to name.