A L Y S S A

"This is a gesture of faith," Mr Valentino says, his voice smooth and assured, like he's explaining an investment opportunity instead of handing me a sum of money that could alter the course of my life. "A retainer, if you will. Consider it a taste of what we're offering. Spend it on your mother. Or don't. It's yours."

The envelope sits in my hands, closed now, but I can still feel what's inside it. I can feel it like pressure against my palms, against my chest, against the part of me that still wants to believe I didn't just agree to sell my future in exchange for survival. My pride is screaming, loud and frantic, telling me not to take it, telling me that once I do, there's no pretending this was hypothetical, no pretending I still have one foot outside the door.

But pride doesn't keep hospital machines running. Pride doesn't make pain go away. Pride doesn't sit beside my mother's bed at night and whisper that she can rest now, that everything will be okay.

So I close the envelope with a hand that trembles despite my effort to stop it, and I slide it into my purse as carefully as if it might burn through the lining. I lift my gaze back to them and nod once.

"I accept," I say.

The words sound strange in my mouth, like they belong to someone else, someone braver or more foolish than I am.

Mrs Valentino's expression softens, just slightly, and Mr Valentino's mouth curves upward in something that looks like satisfaction. They exchange a glance that feels intimate, as though they've just completed a deal that was never truly in question.

"Thank you, Alyssa," Mrs Valentino says. "We will be in touch."

And just like that, it's over.

No signatures. No paperwork slid across the table. No formal closing to the conversation that has just reshaped my entire life. Just expectation hanging in the air, thick and quiet, like something waiting to be fulfilled.

I stand slowly, my legs stiff, my body lagging behind my thoughts as if it needs extra time to catch up. I manage a nod that feels awkward and out of place, then turn toward the elevator without another word.

I do not look back.

The elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me inside a narrow mirrored box that reflects a version of me I barely recognise. Pale. Eyes too wide. Lips parted like I've forgotten how to breathe properly.

What just happened?

The question circles my mind as the elevator descends, the numbers lighting up one by one. I wait for panic to hit, for my chest to tighten, for tears to come. None of it happens. There is only a strange quiet, a blank stretch inside my head where thoughts should be colliding. It feels like something in me has gone still out of self-preservation, as though shutting down emotion is the only way I can keep standing upright.

I open my purse and pull the envelope back out.

The cash is real. I slide my thumb over the bills, half expecting them to fade into nothing, to reveal this whole thing as a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and stress.

Five thousand dollars.

The number alone feels unreal. More money than I have held at one time in years. Enough for another round of treatments. Enough for another stretch of hope.

I fold the envelope again and press it briefly against my chest before tucking it away, like a secret I am not ready to look at for too long.

The elevator doors open.

The lobby is just as polished as before, marble floors gleaming beneath my feet, the receptionist offering me the same polite nod as if I hadn't just walked out of a meeting that has effectively sold my future. I step outside, and the city crashes back into me all at once.

Horns blaring. People rushing past. Voices overlapping. Life is moving forward without hesitation.

Everything looks the same.

But nothing is.

I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking, not toward any particular destination, just away. The cold air bites at my cheeks, stinging enough to remind me that I am still here, still in my body. It helps. A little.

It is nearly midday.

Six hours until the car comes.

Six hours until I meet the man I am supposed to marry.

Six hours until this thing I have agreed to takes on a face.

By the time I reach my apartment, my head feels full again, thoughts stacking on top of each other in ways that make it hard to breathe. I unlock the door and step inside, letting it slam shut behind me with a sound that echoes through the small space, too loud, too final.

I stand there with my coat still on, purse clutched tight to my chest, afraid that if I set it down, I will lose the only proof that this is real. My legs feel stiff, my body unwilling to move forward.

This is real.

I said yes.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and when I take it out of silent mode, I see the missed calls immediately. Carmen. Too many of them.

As if summoned, the phone starts ringing again.

I hesitate, staring at her name on the screen, then answer.

"Hey."

"Alyssa!! Why weren't you picking up my calls?!" she shouts. "I've been trying to reach you all morning! I was about to call hospitals!"

I pull the phone away from my ear. "Good morning to you, too." I let out with a deep sigh.

"You disappeared," she says. "What happened?"

"I had an interview."

There is a pause, then her tone brightens instantly. "Really? That's great. How did it go?"

"It was... different."

The shift is immediate. "Different how?"

"I'm home," I say instead. "Can you come over?"

Another pause. "I'm on my way."

Ten minutes later, she bursts through the door like a storm, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail of red hair, cheeks flushed, eyes scanning me like she's checking for injuries.

"Okay," she says. "Talk."

I don't answer. I just moved toward the coffee table and set my purse down, pulling the envelope out and placing it in front of her.

Her gaze follows it. She stops moving.

"What is that?"

"Open it."

She hesitates, then does, and when she sees what's inside, her breath catches.

"Alyssa," she says quietly. "How much is this...?"

"Five thousand dollars." I let out as I keep my eyes on her.

She looks up at me, eyes wide. "From who??"

"The Valentinos."

Her reaction is instant. She stiffens, then looks at me like I have lost my mind. "What? How? Why would they give you this much money? They hired you and paid you up front?"

I sink onto the couch, exhaustion crashing into me all at once. "I didn't work for them."

Her voice rises. "Then what did you do?"

I close my eyes for a moment, then open them and meet her gaze.

"They want me to marry their son."

The silence that follows feels endless. Until finally she responds.

"What?!"

"Two years," I say. "A contract. A child. Then I'm free."

She stands abruptly. "No. No, absolutely not. This is insane!! This is how people disappear!! Have you never watched a crime documentary in your life?!"

"They're paying for my mom's care," I say. "All of it."

Her mouth opens, then closes again.

"And you're actually considering this...?" she says.

"I already said yes."

She stares at me, horror and worry battling in her eyes.

"Alyssa," she whispers. "What have you done...?"

I look down at my hands, at the envelope still sitting on the table between us.

"I did what I had to."

And even as I say it, I know this is only the beginning.

A L Y S S A

"I didn't sign anything," I rush to say. "It was just... a conversation. This was just motivation to get me to agree..."

"Agree to what?!" She waves the money in the air. "This is not just a conversation. This is blood money. I've heard things, Alyssa... the Valentinos are dangerous people... I don't want you anywhere near them!"

I drag my hands down my face as I stand to my feet. "I know how it sounds, okay? Believe me, I know. But they weren't threatening me. They were... professional. Cold, but... polite. Like it was a business transaction."

She stares at me like I've completely lost it. "Polite? Alyssa, they're the Valentinos. Polite is just another weapon for people like them. What did they say? Tell me why they gave you $5000?"

The words feel heavier when I have to form them aloud.

"They want me to marry their son."

Carmen blinks. Once. Twice. "I'm sorry.... what?"

"Two years. I marry their son, Stephano. I give them a child, and then I'm free."

Her mouth falls open. She looks at me like I've confessed to joining a cult. "You're not serious."

"They offered to pay off Mom's medical bills. All of them. And they'll fund her care permanently, till she gets better. Plus, I get a settlement when the contract's done."

She then places the money on the table, then she grabs a throw pillow and smacks me square in the shoulder.

"Hey!" I shout, staring back at her with shock.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?! You're not going through with this! Alyssa, this is insane! This is how women end up in Netflix documentaries!" She says, and I let out a dry laugh, though it comes out closer to a choke.

"I told them I'd meet him this afternoon. That's all. Just... meet him."

She drops the pillow, staring at me like she's trying to shake sense into me with her eyes alone. "So... you're actually thinking about it?"

"I'm thinking about mom," I say, my voice quiet. "She's dying, Carmen. And I'm out of options. This isn't just about me anymore."

The silence between us is heavy, and for a moment, I watch as her features relax. Finally, Carmen exhales and sinks onto the couch beside me. Her fingers worry the edge of the pillow in her lap. "Okay. Okay. I'm not saying I like it. Because I don't. This whole thing is shady as hell. But maybe..." she pauses, reluctantly, "...maybe this is your way out. I mean, $5,000 just for showing up? That's not nothing."

"I know," I whisper.

"You said they weren't creepy or anything?"

"No. Not creepy. Just very... direct. Like they'd already decided everything before I even walked in the room."

She frowns. "Did they say anything about what happens if you don't..." she lowers her voice to almost a whisper, "...get pregnant?"

"They said I'd still be let go. But Mom's trust wouldn't be extended."

"So it's baby or bust."

"Basically."

Carmen scrubs her hands over her face. "Jesus Christ help us."

I stare at the check again. My stomach knots tighter every time my eyes land on it, like it's a hook dragging me somewhere I can't escape.

"I feel like I've already stepped into something I can't back out of."

She doesn't argue with me. She just watches me, her silence louder than words.

"I need you to do something for me," I say, turning toward her.

Her eyes snap to mine. "Anything."

"If something happens to me... if I disappear, or you don't hear from me... You go to the police, and you tell them everything."

Her mouth opens. "Alyssa..."

"I'm serious," I cut her off. "I don't care what it looks like. You take the money, you take my laptop, and you tell them everything."

Her jaw tightens, but she reaches over and grabs my hand. Her grip is warm, firm, steady in a way I don't feel. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"You don't know that."

"I won't let it."

I want to believe her. God, I want to.

My eyes burn, tears threatening, but I force them back down. I can't cry. Not yet.

"This is crazy," I whisper. "I can't believe I'm actually going through with this."

"You're not alone, I'm right here, okay?" Carmen says. Her voice is fierce now, unwavering. "You're not doing this without backup."

I nod. It helps. Not much, but enough to take a full breath.

"I have to get ready," I murmur.

She looks me up and down, unimpressed. "I hope you're thinking of changing."

A laugh escapes me, brittle but real. "I think I look fine. If he hates it, that's his problem."

"You know," she mutters, standing, "if he turns out to be hot, I'm going to be really conflicted about this."

"I don't care what he looks like," I say. "I just want him to sign the damn papers and leave me alone."

Carmen gives me a long, meaningful look. "That's not how this ends, Alyssa. If you get a child, you're stuck with him forever..."

I glance away. I know she's right. Somewhere deep down, I know.

But I'm already in it.

And the clock is ticking.

A L Y S S A

I have never stared at myself in a mirror this long, not even on mornings when exhaustion made its home on my face, or nights when I have cried hard enough to scare myself, because this time feels different... way different...

The bathroom is small, barely wide enough to stretch my arms out, and the single yellow bulb above the mirror is enough to light up the room. As I stare at my reflection, I see every question I have not answered sitting plainly on my face, the tension in my jaw, the way my lips keep pressing together as if holding back words I am afraid to say out loud, the uncertainty in my eyes that refuses to settle, no matter how long I look.

I am dressed better than I have been in years, not glamorous or expensive, the way women like Mrs Valentino carry themselves, but still decent and intentional in a quieter way. I wear a long black dress I forgot I owned until this afternoon, it's soft fabric that falls smoothly against my body without clinging too tightly and simple enough that it does not feel like a costume. My hair frames my face neatly, washed and styled with more effort than I usually allow myself, and my makeup is light, just enough to make me look awake, functional, like someone who belongs in rooms far bigger than my apartment.

I look fine.

Inside, I feel hollow and overstretched, like I have been pulled in too many directions at once, and something is bound to tear.

As I leave the bathroom and make my way into the living room, I glance at the digital clock on the TV stand. 5:47.

Thirteen minutes.

I smooth my dress again, even though there is nothing wrong with it, then walk further into the living room, where Carmen has been pacing since the moment I came out of the bathroom, moving back and forth across the floor with restless energy, her arms folding and unfolding, her foot tapping hard enough to make the lamp tremble slightly.

Then she comes to a stop the moment she sees me, her mouth falling open as she stares me down from head to toe.

"Wow, Alyssa," she says, breathless, taking a few steps closer to me.

I lift an eyebrow, attempting humour even though my throat feels tight. "That good or that bad?"

She continues to look me up and down slowly. "That is 'a you are about to walk into a very dangerous fairy tale' kind of good."

I let out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh, but it fades when I realise she is not smiling.

"You sure about this?" she asks, her voice lower now, and the truth comes easily to me.

"No," I mumble.

"Then do not go." She tries to plead, her eyebrows knotted worriedly.

I shake my head, trying not to think the worst of what might happen to me tonight. "I have to."

"You do not," she insists, stepping closer, frustration flashing across her face. "You can still say no. We can figure something else out. We always do."

I look down at my hands, at the way my fingers are pressed together too tightly. "If it were just me, I would walk away. I would not hesitate. But it is not just me." I say, and it seems that's enough for her to understand.

Her expression softens, worry breaking through her anger, but she still shakes her head. "Just promise me you will be careful. Promise me you will call me every hour."

"I cannot call you every hour." I huff.

"Then every two," she says without missing a moment. "And if I do not hear from you by midnight, I am calling the police and showing up at that place myself."

A small laugh escapes me. "You would actually do that."

"I would," she replies simply, then turns toward the window and pulls back the blinds. "And right on time."

I join her, my stomach twisting the second I see the black car waiting at the curb, polished and silent, expensive and completely out of place on this street.

Carmen grabs my hand, squeezing hard. "Text me when you get there."

"I will," I say just as I pull her in for a tight hug.

"I mean it." She tells me, mumbles against my shoulder.

"So do I," I answer just before pulling away and beginning to make my way towards the door.

I do not tell her how badly my legs are shaking, or how much I want to lock the door and pretend none of this is real. I just nod, draw in a breath, and step outside before I can change my mind.

By the time I reach outside, the driver is already waiting, tall and formal in a dark suit, his expression neutral.

"Miss Hart?" he asks politely as I get closer to him.

"That's me," I answer quietly, and he nods before moving to open the door, and after a brief pause, I climb into the back seat, the interior quiet and immaculate, smelling faintly of leather and cologne.

The door closes, and locks, and the car begins pulling away from the curb.

I watch the city slide past through the window, familiar streets giving way to wider roads, streetlights thinning out, buildings replaced by hedges and gates and stretches of quiet. It feels unreal, like I am being carried farther and farther from the life I know with every passing minute.

After close to 25 minutes, we drive down a long bare road lined with rows of green hedges, and at the edge of the road, there is a set of large black gates. As we approach, they open for us, and once I look out the window, I feel my breath leave my lungs.

The driveway curves through gardens and fountains illuminated by warm lights, statues rising from greenery like silent watchers, and then... the mansion appears. It's a pure white, lit up by golden lights that glow softly as dusk settles. Massive, elegant and surreal.

The car stops at the front of the mansion, and the driver steps out to open my door. As my heels touch the stone, I look up at the place where my life is about to change.

"They are waiting for you inside, Miss Hart," the driver says, and I nod and step forward.

I guess it's finally game time...