The fluorescent lights of St. Mary's Hospital flickered overhead as Ella Morgan sat beside her mother's bed, holding a hand that felt far too fragile. Catherine Morgan had always been strong. Now, she looked like a shadow of herself, her skin thin against the harsh white sheets.
"You should go home, sweetheart," her mother said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You have work in the morning."
Ella forced a smile, gently squeezing her mother's hand. "I took the early shift off. I can stay a little longer."
It was a lie. She hadn't taken anything off—she'd just rearranged her schedule to work a double at the diner tomorrow to make up for the lost hours. Her manager wasn't happy, but Ella had learned that unhappy managers were easier to deal with than the guilt of leaving her mother alone.
The heart monitor beeped steadily,counting down time Ella didn't have.
"The doctors said the new treatment is working," Ella said, injecting false cheer into her voice. "Your numbers are better this week."
Another lie. The numbers were worse. Stage four pancreatic cancer didn't care about optimism or prayer or the fact that Catherine Morgan was only fifty-three and had already lost her husband eight years ago. It just kept growing, spreading, consuming.
Her mother's eyes—still sharp despite everything—found hers. "Ella Katherine Morgan, I taught you better than to lie to me."
Ella's throat tightened. "Mom—"
"How much do we owe now?"
The number sat in Ella's stomach like a stone. She'd been avoiding thinking about it, as if ignorance could somehow make it less real. But her mother deserved the truth.
"Two hundred and thirty-seven thousand," Ella whispered.
The insurance had covered some of it. The rest came from medical bills, experimental treatments not covered by any plan, medications that cost more than rent, and the loan—God, the loan—she'd taken from Rakim when the hospital threatened to discharge her mother for non-payment.
Rakim. Even his name alone made her skin crawl.
"That's more than last week," her mother said quietly.
"The new medication is expensive." Ella tried to keep her voice steady. "But it's working, Mom. It's buying us time."
Time. As if they could purchase it like groceries, stretch it out to make it last.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
It buzzed again. And again.
"Answer it," her mother said.
Ella pulled out her phone, her heart sinking when she saw the number. Unknown, but she knew exactly who it was. Rakim never called from the same number twice—harder to block that way.
She stood up, moving to the corner of the room. "I'll be right back."
"Ella—"
"Just a minute, Mom."
She stepped into the hallway, the smell of antiseptic and cafeteria food washing over her. Taking a deep breath, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Miss Morgan." The voice was smooth, almost pleasant. Rakim always sounded like he was inviting you to lunch, not threatening to break your kneecaps. "I've been trying to reach you."
"I've been busy."
"I'm sure you have. Hospital visits take time." He paused, letting that sink in. He knew where she was. Of course he did. "But we have business to discuss."
Ella's hand tightened around the phone. "I made a payment last week."
"You made 'a' payment. Not 'the' payment." His voice lost some of its warmth. "Our agreement was clear, Miss Morgan. Fifty thousand down, the rest in six months. It's been six months."
"I need more time—"
"Time is expensive. And you're already paying interest." She could hear papers shuffling. "Let's see... with the interest combined, you now owe me two hundred and twelve thousand, three hundred and forty-seven dollars."
The hallway tilted. That was just his loan. The hospital bills were separate.
"I don't have that kind of money," Ella said, hating how small her voice sounded.
"Then you need to find it." All pretense of pleasantness vanished. "I'm a businessman, Miss Morgan, not a charity. You signed a contract."
A contract. Funny how that word kept coming back to haunt her.
"I'm working three jobs—"
"Work six. Sell your belongings. I don't care." His voice hardened. "You have until midnight tonight to deliver fifty thousand dollars. Consider it a good faith payment."
"Tonight? That's impossible—"
"Then I'll have to explore alternative collection methods."
Cold cripped up her skin . "What does that mean?"
"It means," Rakim said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "that I have associates who are very good at finding... creative solutions. Your mother is in room 407, yes? St. Mary's Hospital? Such a nice facility. It would be a shame if something happened to disrupt her care."
Ella's breath caught. "You wouldn't—"
"I would do whatever is necessary to collect what I'm owed." His tone suggested he was examining his fingernails, bored by her predictable outrage. "Hospitals have a lot of equipment. Machines stop working all the time. Medications get mixed up. Accidents happen."
"You're threatening my mother's life?"
"I'm explaining consequences." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Fifty thousand dollars. Midnight. I'll text you the location." He paused. "Oh, and Miss Morgan? Don't even think about going to the police. You signed a contract with me willingly. And I have very good lawyers. Very, 'very' good lawyers. You, on the other hand, have nothing."
The line went dead.
Ella stood frozen in the hospital hallway, her phone still pressed to her ear, as nurses walked past and an orderly pushed a medication cart and somewhere a baby cried and life just kept moving forward like nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
Fifty thousand dollars. By midnight.
She had eight hundred and thirty-two dollars in her checking account. Another three hundred in savings. Her car was twelve years old and worth maybe two thousand if she could find a buyer. Her apartment was a rental. She had some jewelry from her grandmother, but it was costume stuff, worth nothing.
She had nothing.
Her mother had nothing.
And Rakim had everything—including the power to end her mother's life with a phone call.
Ella slid down the wall, her legs giving out, and sat on the cold floor. She buried her face in her hands, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to scream.
*Think, Ella. Think.*
She could ask Maya, her best friend, but Maya was a struggling artist living in a studio apartment with two roommates. She'd give Ella everything she had, but "everything" was probably five hundred dollars at most.
She could try to take out another loan, but no legitimate bank would touch her—not with her credit score, not with her debt-to-income ratio. She'd already been turned down by six banks before she'd been desperate enough to approach Rakim.
She could—
Dominic Blackwood.
The thought came unbidden, a memory from another lifetime. The Blackwood family had been friends with her parents once, back when her father was alive and the Morgan name still meant something in Boston's business circles. They'd summered in the Hamptons together. She vaguely remembered a tall, serious boy who'd helped her find a butterfly she'd been chasing.
That boy was now Dominic Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, one of the most powerful men in the city. She'd seen his face in the business section of newspapers, on magazine covers, in the society pages with a string of beautiful women on his arm.
She hadn't spoken to him in seventeen years.
But he had money. More money than God. And maybe—'maybe'—he'd remember her family. Remember the summers when their parents had laughed over wine and her father had given his father business advice and there had been something like friendship between them.
It was a long shot. No, it was insane.
But it was all she had.
Ella pulled herself to her feet, wiping her eyes. She'd go back in, sit with her mother for another hour, pretend everything was fine. Then she'd go home, change clothes, and figure out how to get into Blackwood Tower after hours.
Because one way or another, she was getting that money.
Even if it meant breaking and entering.
Even if it meant begging.
Even if it meant selling her soul.
Her mother was worth it. Her mother was worth everything.
Ella took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and walked back into room 407 with a smile plastered on her face.
"Sorry about that," she said brightly. "Just my manager asking me to cover another shift."
Her mother looked at her for a long moment, seeing right through the lie, but said nothing.
They sat together in comfortable silence, between this silence Ella was lost in her thoughts on how to get a passage into the Blackwood building, then she remembered Jenny who owned her a favour luckily also works at the Blackwood Empire.
She remembered how to gain access to the whole floor but was possible with a key card in Jenny possession, then she devices a means to get it and due to the fact that she and Jenny were close door neighbours were good friends.
She bid her mother farewell and left for home, when she got home luckily Jenny was home, she then went over to her place in pretence to ask her for help for her mother's hospital bill.
During the time of their conversation,She then used the opportunity to take -- borrow the keycard from her desk knowing fully well that Jenny was a careless person then bid her farewell and left with her heart pounding on her chest.
Rain began falling and thundering on the glass counting down the hours until midnight and until Ella Morgan would do something desperate.
Something that would change her life forever.