ISLA'S POV
The coffee pot slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor.
Isla! Mrs. Kim's voice cut through the café noise. That's the third pot this week!
Sorry, I mumbled, dropping to my knees to clean up the mess. Hot coffee soaked through my uniform pants. Glass cut my palm. I barely felt it.
I'd been awake for thirty-eight hours straight.
Coffee shop, 6 AM to 2 PM. Restaurant, 3 PM to 9 PM. Bar, 10 PM to 4 AM. Four hours of sleep on Maya's couch. Then back to the coffee shop.
Two weeks of this. Two weeks since Daddy's surgery.
He was alive. Stable. Still in the hospital because we couldn't afford the medication he needed to go home.
And I'd saved exactly $4,872.
Four thousand dollars toward fifty million.
I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both.
You look half-dead, Mrs. Kim said, not unkindly. She handed me a dustpan. How many jobs are you working?
Three. My voice came out flat. Empty.
That's not sustainable, honey. You need to
I need to work. I dumped the broken glass in the trash. Please. I can't lose this job.
Mrs. Kim sighed. Just... be more careful.
At the restaurant, I lasted until the dinner rush before dropping a tray of plates. The crash echoed through the dining room. Fifty customers turned to stare.
My supervisor pulled me aside. Isla, I like you. But you're becoming a liability. Maybe you should take some time off
I can't afford time off.
Then maybe you can't afford to work here. His voice was gentle but firm. I'm sorry. Clean out your locker.
Two jobs down to two.
I walked through the city in a daze. It was barely 7 PM. I didn't have to be at the bar until 10.
Three hours. I could try the banks again.
First National Bank looked the same as it had yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.
The loan officer—a woman with perfect hair and a pitying smile—recognized me immediately.
Miss Chen. I told you yesterday
I know what you told me. But maybe if I explain again
You have no collateral. No assets. No credit history. And you're asking for... She checked her computer screen. Fifty million dollars. For a debt that isn't even yours legally.
It's my father's debt. That makes it mine.
That's not how the law works. She closed her laptop with a decisive click. I'm sorry. The answer is no. It will always be no.
I tried three more banks. Got the same answer at each one.
By 9 PM, I was standing outside a different kind of establishment. The kind of place that didn't advertise. That operated in shadows.
Mr. Chen's Lending Services.
A loan shark.
Inside, the office smelled like cigarette smoke and desperation. A man behind a metal desk looked up as I entered. Scar across his left cheek. Dead eyes.
How much? he asked without preamble.
Fifty million.
He laughed. Actually laughed. You're funny, girl. Get out.
Please, I'm serious
So am I. Get. Out. He pulled a knife from his desk drawer, not threatening, just showing. Unless you got collateral worth fifty million? A building? A business? Gold bars hidden somewhere?
I thought about our empty apartment. Our repossessed car. The hospital bills growing every day.
I have nothing, I whispered.
Then we got nothing to talk about. He lit a cigarette. Although... pretty girl like you. You could work off a smaller amount. Say, fifty thousand. Take you about five years in our... entertainment division.
The way he said entertainment made my skin crawl.
I ran out before he could say more.
On the street, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. College friends who'd moved on to fancy jobs. Wealthy acquaintances from better times. Anyone who might help.
I started calling.
Isla? Oh my god, I heard about the engagement. So embarrassing for you
I need money. It's an emergency. My father
Click. She hung up.
I tried another number.
Fifty million? Are you insane? I saw you at that party. Everyone's talking about how desperate you are. Don't drag me into your mess.
Click.
Another number.
This time, I got voicemail. Hi, this is Jessica! Leave a message!
I didn't bother.
By midnight, I'd called seventeen people. Twelve hung up. Three laughed. Two offered to help in ways that made my stomach turn.
Zero offered actual money.
I sat on a bench outside a closed pharmacy, staring at my phone.
Seventy-six days left.
$4,872 saved.
No job prospects that would make any difference.
The text message from Golden Phoenix Matchmaking stared at me from my phone. I'd ignored it for two weeks.
Now, I opened it.
We help desperate girls like you.
My fingers hovered over the number.
Don't, a voice in my head warned. You know what this is.
But another voice—the one that sounded like the hospital billing department, like Mr. Zhao's threats, like the beeping machines keeping Daddy alive—whispered:
What choice do you have?
At 2 AM, I stood outside a building in the worst part of town. The sign was small, discreet: Golden Phoenix Matchmaking Services.
A business card in my shaking hand had the same name.
I'd found it slipped into my apron pocket at the restaurant. No idea who put it there. Someone who recognized desperation when they saw it.
Inside, the waiting room had dim lighting and cheap plastic chairs. Three other women sat along the wall. Young. Pretty. Eyes that looked dead already.
They didn't look at me. Didn't look at each other. Just stared at the floor, waiting.
A door opened. A man appeared—greasy hair, stained shirt, smile like an oil spill.
Fresh meat, he said, looking me up and down. Come here, sweetheart.
I walked forward on legs that felt like concrete.
His office smelled like old food and cheaper cologne. He gestured to a chair across from his desk.
How much you need? he asked.
Fifty million.
He laughed just like the loan shark. Funny. How much really?
Anything. Everything. How much can I get?
His smile widened, showing yellow teeth. Depends what you're willing to do. Ever been with a man before?
Heat flooded my face. I, that's not
Virgins fetch a premium. I got clients who pay extra for that. He pulled out a form. Pretty face like yours, good body, young... I can get you a hundred thousand for six months. Full service contract.
A hundred thousand. Not even close to what I needed. But it was something.
Full service means what exactly? I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Whatever the client wants. You live with him. Sleep with him. Do whatever he says without complaining. You smile, you obey, you don't ask questions.
My hands clenched into fists under the desk.
This was prostitution. Legal prostitution disguised as matchmaking, but still selling my body to a stranger.
The client, I forced out. Do I get to know who—
Older gentleman. Very wealthy. Very particular about his tastes. The broker's eyes crawled over me. You'd be his... companion. For six months. After that, you're free. With a hundred thousand in your pocket.
He pushed the contract across the desk.
Standard matchmaking agreement, the header read. Nothing standard about it.
My finger hovered over the signature line.
One hundred thousand dollars. It would pay for Daddy's medication. Buy us some time. Let me keep searching for the rest.
What was six months of my life compared to saving my father?
My hand picked up the pen.
That's a good girl, the broker purred. Sign right there, and
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
The broker frowned. You gonna answer that?
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands.
Three texts from the hospital.
Your father is awake.
He's asking for you.
Please come as soon as possible. He's very agitated.
Daddy was awake. Conscious. Asking for me.
If I signed this paper, could I ever look him in the eye again?
Could I tell him I sold myself to save him?
Would he even want to live knowing what I'd done?
I dropped the pen like it burned.
I can't, I whispered.
What? The broker's smile vanished.
I can't do this. I stood up so fast the chair fell over. I'm sorry. I can't.
Sit down! His voice turned harsh. You came here for a reason. You need money. I'm offering you money. Don't waste my time
I ran.
Out of the office. Past the dead-eyed women in the waiting room. Into the cold night air.
I ran until my lungs burned. Until my legs gave out. Until I collapsed against a building, gasping and sobbing.
I'd almost done it. Almost signed my body away to a stranger.
And it wouldn't have even been enough money.
Nothing would ever be enough.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from the hospital: Your father is asking where you are. Please hurry.
I stood on shaking legs and started walking toward the hospital.
Seventy-six days left.
No money. No plan. No hope.
But Daddy was awake and asking for me.
And maybe that was enough for tonight.
Maybe I could survive one more day without selling my soul.
Maybe.
The hospital loomed ahead, all lit windows and false promises of healing.
I walked through the emergency room doors, my uniform still stained with coffee, my hands still shaking.
The night nurse smiled. Your father's in Room 304. He's been asking for you for an hour. He seems upset about something.
My heart clenched. Did he know? Had someone told him about the debt? About how close we were to losing everything?
I pushed open the door to Room 304.
Daddy sat up in bed, looking stronger than I'd seen him in weeks. But his face was pale. Worried.
Isla-bear, he said, using my childhood nickname. Where have you been?
Working. I came as soon as I got your message.
His eyes scanned my face, reading me like he always could. You look terrible. You're not sleeping. Not eating. His voice got serious. What's going on? The truth this time.
I opened my mouth to lie. To tell him everything was fine.
But before I could speak, his hospital room door opened again.
A man stepped inside. Tall. Expensive suit. Dark hair. Eyes like winter.
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
Then he spoke, his voice smooth as expensive silk:
Miss Chen. We need to talk about your father's debt.
Daddy's face went white. Who are you?
The man's smile was cold. Dangerous. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
I'm the man who's about to make Isla an offer she can't refuse.