The bitter smell of espresso hung heavy in the Seattle downtown coffee shop.

Dahlia pushed the glass door open. Her eyes scanned the crowded room. She spotted the man in the black suit sitting in the corner booth. A thick scar ran down the side of his neck.

Vince slammed a massive stack of legal documents onto the marble table. The impact shook the surface.

Dark coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug. Several hot drops splattered onto the crisp white cuff of Dahlia's shirt.

Dahlia did not flinch. She pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and dabbed at the wet stain. Her eyes locked onto the bold print of the debt transfer agreement.

Vince let out a harsh laugh.

"You are a bankrupt little girl," Vince said. "What makes you think you can guarantee this kind of money?"

Dahlia reached into her bag. She pulled out her iPad and unlocked the screen. She slid it across the table.

"Look at the data," Dahlia said.

The screen showed the steady revenue streams and explosive growth curves of her social media accounts.

Vince swiped his thick finger across the glass. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He cleared his throat loudly to cover his surprise.

He tapped his knuckles against the table.

"I need a twenty percent excess late fee clause," Vince demanded. "For my risk."

Dahlia leaned forward. Her spine was rigid. She stared at the scratched-out numbers, a memory flashing in her mind. She remembered sitting in her father's mahogany office, listening to his corporate lawyer explain predatory lending limits just before the bankruptcy hit. The legal jargon had stuck with her. She took a slow, steadying breath, letting the confidence of her old life seep back into her posture.

"I recall the advice my father's corporate lawyer gave us," Dahlia stated. "I am pretty sure a rate that high is completely illegal here. You can try to enforce that clause, but my attorney will have a field day with it in court, and you get absolutely nothing."

Vince stared at her. The air between them felt thick enough to choke on.

He let out a heavy breath. He grabbed a red pen and violently scratched out the late fee clause.

Dahlia pulled the cap off her Montblanc pen. She pressed the nib against the signature line. She signed her name with fast, sharp strokes.

The crushing weight of her father's debt was now legally hers. Strangely, the tight knot in her stomach unraveled. She felt a bizarre sense of relief.

Vince shoved the papers into his leather briefcase.

"You have guts, kid," Vince muttered.

Dahlia paid for her coffee and walked out the door. The midday sun hit her face. It burned her red, sleep-deprived eyes.

Across the busy street, Eveline walked out of a high-end boutique. Several Chanel shopping bags hung from her wrists.

Eveline looked past the crawling traffic. Her eyes locked onto the corner. She saw Dahlia standing next to Vince.

Eveline knew exactly who Vince was. Everyone in her circle knew the ruthless distressed-asset buyer.

A cruel smile stretched across Eveline's face. She pictured Dahlia being hunted down by loan sharks.

Eveline dropped her bags. She pulled out her iPhone and zoomed the camera lens all the way in. She snapped a photo of Dahlia's back as she stood next to the scarred man.

Dahlia felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She turned her head toward the street. A massive double-decker bus roared past, blocking her view of the boutique.

Eveline ducked behind a window display. She opened her group chat and attached the photo.

Her phone screen lit up instantly. Notifications flooded in. Her friends sent strings of laughing emojis, mocking Dahlia's incoming jail time.

Eveline locked her phone. She was certain Dahlia would come crawling to the Rose family to beg for a bailout.

Dahlia pulled her coat tighter against the autumn wind. She walked down the concrete stairs into the subway station.

She swiped her card at the turnstile. Her phone started ringing. The sound was sharp and piercing.

She pulled it out of her pocket. The name "Mrs. Rose" flashed on the screen.

Dahlia's heart dropped into her stomach. Her blood ran cold.

She took a deep breath. The roar of the incoming train filled the station. She pressed the green answer button. Her jaw set hard.

The screech of the subway brakes echoed in Dahlia's ears. Mrs. Rose's voice cut through the noise. It was an order for afternoon tea, not an invitation.

"I will be there in an hour," Dahlia said. Her voice held zero emotion. She ended the call.

She walked back into her cramped apartment. The sky outside the dirty window was turning black. Thick clouds rolled in.

Dahlia walked to her cheap dresser. She pulled open the top drawer. She reached all the way to the back and pulled out a dark blue velvet box.

Her thumb rested on the soft fabric for one second.

She popped the lid open. The five-carat pink diamond sat perfectly still inside. It was the ring Kirt had given her.

A brief ache squeezed her throat. She remembered the day he put it on her finger. But the memory faded fast, replaced by the cold reality of her bank account.

She snapped the box shut. She shoved it deep into her purse. She ordered an Uber on her phone.

The car drove into the gated community. Heavy rain began to smash against the windshield. The drops sounded like rocks hitting the glass.

The driver looked at the massive iron gates in front of them. He glanced at Dahlia through the rearview mirror.

The red light on the security camera blinked as it scanned her face. A heavy mechanical clunk echoed in the rain. The iron gates slowly groaned open, allowing the modest Uber to pass through the heavily guarded perimeter. The contrast between her cheap ride and the sprawling estate made her chest tighten.

Dahlia handed the driver a cash tip as the car pulled right up to the massive front porch. She pushed the car door open. She stepped out, her eyes immediately locking onto a brand-new, bright red Porsche parked in the prime spot. It was Kirt's. The sight of it-a frivolous, million-dollar purchase made while her family drowned in debt-sent a hot spike of anger through her veins. She gripped the strap of her bag, her knuckles turning white. The wind whipped a stray gust of freezing rain against her bare legs as she rushed to the covered entryway.

She reached the massive front porch. She brushed the water off her trench coat.

The double oak doors pulled open from the inside. Maeve, the head housekeeper, stood there in her stiff uniform.

Maeve looked at Dahlia's wet clothes. A flicker of pity crossed her eyes. She handed Dahlia a dry white towel.

"Thank you," Dahlia said. She wiped the cold water from her cheeks. She kept her spine completely straight.

"Madam is waiting in the sunroom," Maeve said in a robotic tone. "Please change into the guest slippers. The carpets were just cleaned."

Dahlia stepped out of her muddy leather shoes. She slid her cold feet into the thin slippers. Her movements were slow and deliberate.

She walked down the long hallway. The air smelled heavily of expensive agarwood and fresh roses. It made her head throb.

She looked at the console table against the wall. The silver framed photo of her and Kirt was gone. The tabletop was completely bare.

Her chest tightened. That empty space confirmed exactly what was about to happen.

Dahlia stopped in front of the French glass doors of the sunroom. She sucked in a lungful of air.

Maeve pushed the doors open and announced her.

Mrs. Rose sat on a velvet armchair. She held a cup of Darjeeling tea. She did not look up.

The rain hammered against the glass roof of the sunroom. Inside, the heater blew warm air. The physical difference made Dahlia feel sick.

Dahlia walked to the empty sofa across from Mrs. Rose. She did not wait for permission. She sat down.

Mrs. Rose finally lifted her chin. Her sharp eyes cut across Dahlia's damp hair.

Mrs. Rose set her teacup down on the saucer. The porcelain clinked loudly in the quiet room.

"Your father left a massive hole," Mrs. Rose said. She stated the exact dollar amount of the Mcdonald family debt.

Dahlia did not argue. She reached her hand into her purse. Her fingers wrapped around the velvet box.

Mrs. Rose reached into her Hermes bag. She pulled out a paper check. She slid it across the marble coffee table.

The number written on the line was five million dollars.

"This is compensation for your time with my son," Mrs. Rose said. "Take the money. Leave Seattle. Never speak to Kirt again."

Dahlia stared at the zeros on the check. A cold, hard smile broke across her face.

She did not touch the paper. She pulled her hand out of her purse. She placed the dark blue velvet box right next to the check.

Dahlia pressed the button. The box snapped open. The pink diamond caught the light from the chandelier.

Mrs. Rose's pupils shrank. Her breath hitched. She stared at the ring.

"I am handling my family's debt," Dahlia said. Her voice was ice. "I do not need your money."

Mrs. Rose scoffed. She crossed her arms.

"This is a game," Mrs. Rose sneered. "You think playing hard to get will make Kirt fight for you."

Dahlia pulled her phone from her pocket. She unlocked the screen. She tapped Kirt's name and hit the speaker button. She dropped the phone onto the marble table.

The line rang twice. Kirt picked up.

"Dahlia? Baby, are you okay?" Kirt's voice filled the room. He sounded frantic.

Mrs. Rose's face turned pale. She opened her mouth to yell, but Dahlia shot her a glare so lethal it froze the older woman in place.

"Kirt," Dahlia said into the microphone. Her tone was completely flat. "The engagement is off."

A heavy silence fell over the line.

"What?" Kirt's voice cracked. "Why? Let me come see you."

"No," Dahlia cut him off. "I am tired of this. I don't love you anymore. It's over."

Kirt started begging. His voice broke.

Dahlia did not let him finish. She slammed her finger onto the red button. The call ended.

She tapped the screen three more times. She blocked his number. She did it right in front of his mother's eyes.

Dahlia stood up. She looked down at Mrs. Rose.

"I have nothing to do with the Rose family anymore," Dahlia stated.

She turned around. Her heels hit the wooden floor with heavy, final thuds.

Mrs. Rose sat frozen, staring at the diamond ring and the untouched check.

Dahlia pushed the sunroom doors open. Maeve stood in the hall. The housekeeper looked at Dahlia with wide eyes.

Dahlia walked out the front doors. She did not open her umbrella. She stepped directly into the freezing downpour.

The rain soaked through her coat instantly. The water ran down her face. She couldn't tell if her eyes were leaking tears or just catching the storm.

The heavy iron gates clanged shut behind her. The sound vibrated in her chest.

Dahlia stood on the curb. She inhaled the smell of wet dirt. Her lungs expanded. She felt completely free.

A yellow cab pulled up. Dahlia yanked the door open and slid onto the vinyl seat. She gave the driver her address.

The heater blasted her wet legs. She leaned her head back against the window and closed her eyes.

Her phone buzzed in her wet pocket. She pulled it out.

It was a text from Cindi: "Are you home? I need to see you."