Chapter 1
I always thought eighteen would feel different. Most girls my age were planning for college, going to parties, or thinking about what kind of future they wanted. Me? I was standing in our tiny, falling-apart kitchen, peeling boiled eggs with tired hands and wondering if I had enough money left to buy bread for tomorrow.
Our house wasn’t much. Just two bedrooms, one bathroom that barely worked, and a kitchen with cabinets hanging loose on their hinges. Paint peeled off the walls in patches, and the floor tiles were cracked in more places than I could count. But it was home—or at least, it had been once. Back when Mom was alive. Back when laughter filled these rooms instead of silence, or worse… shouting.
Now it was just me, Lily, and Steve.
Lily sat at the chipped wooden table, swinging her legs as she hummed a little tune. At ten years old, she still had that light in her eyes, the one I tried so hard to protect. Her golden-blonde hair, the same shade as our father’s, spilled down her back. She was brushing her Barbie doll’s hair, tongue sticking out in concentration.
I set the plate of sandwiches in front of her. “Eat up, Lil. Egg sandwiches today.”
Her blue eyes lit up as if I’d served a feast. “Yay! Thanks, Emma.” She picked one up with both hands, biting into it eagerly.
I smiled, even though exhaustion pressed down on my bones. My uniform smelled like grease and coffee from my second shift at the diner, and in just an hour, I’d have to leave for my third job. Some nights it felt like all I ever did was work and come home long enough to cook and make sure Lily had her school things ready.
But I didn’t mind. She deserved better. She deserved more than this run-down place, more than me trying to patch together a life that was already crumbling.
I ran my fingers through her soft hair, then reached for the brush. “After you eat, bath time, okay? And then I’ll braid your hair.”
She scrunched her nose. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you do,” I teased softly. “We can’t have you going to school tomorrow looking like a wild lion.”
She giggled, and the sound warmed my tired heart.
When she finished eating, I guided her to the bathroom and helped her wash. The hot water barely worked, so it was more lukewarm than anything, but Lily didn’t complain. She never did. I dried her off and brushed her blonde hair until it shone like silk under the weak bathroom light. We were so different, Lily and I.
Her light, angelic beauty made people smile instantly. She had Dad’s hair, Dad’s eyes—though sometimes I wished she hadn’t. I, on the other hand, had Mom’s curls, dark and unruly, and soft brown eyes that never seemed to shine as bright as Lily’s.
And my father? I never knew him. Mom used to say he died before I was born. That was it. No stories. No details. Just gone.
By the time Lily was tucked into bed with her favorite stuffed bear, I’d packed some sandwiches into a small box for Steve too. Not because I wanted to. But because I knew if there was food waiting for him, he might yell less.
I sighed as I slipped into my old sneakers, tying the frayed laces quickly. My body begged for sleep, but sleep wasn’t an option. If I didn’t work, Lily wouldn’t eat. Simple as that.
Just as I was about to grab my bag and head out the door, the front door swung open with a loud bang. The smell hit me first—whiskey and cigarettes, strong enough to burn my throat.
Steve.
He stumbled inside, his shirt half unbuttoned, his face flushed. His once handsome features were now hardened, ruined by alcohol and the bitterness he carried like a second skin. He dropped his keys on the table, swaying slightly as his bloodshot eyes landed on me.
“Well, look at you,” he slurred. “All dressed up for work again. Thought you’d be too tired after two shifts already.”
I froze, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I… I made you a plate. It’s on the counter.”
Usually, that was enough. He’d grumble, maybe insult me, then collapse on the couch until morning. But tonight, something was different.
He didn’t look at the food. He didn’t head for the couch. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, a crooked grin twisting his lips.
“Forget the sandwiches, Emma,” he said. “Go pack your things.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“I said pack your things.” His voice was harder now, sharper. “You’re eighteen. I can’t keep feeding you forever. Time you started pulling your weight around here.”
Panic prickled my skin. “I already work four jobs,” I whispered. “I’m paying for Lily’s school. What more do you want?”
He stepped closer, his eyes dark with something I didn’t understand. “I got you a job. An important one. Better than waitressing. Now stop arguing and pack.”
For a second, I thought it was another one of his cruel jokes. He’d done it before—telling me I was being sent away or threatening to kick me out—just to watch me panic. But this time, his voice was different. Cold. Serious.
I shook my head quickly, fear making my chest tighten. “I… I can’t just leave Lily.”
His hand shot out, gripping my arm hard enough to bruise. “Don’t you dare question me, Emma. You’re just like your mother—ungrateful. She thought she was too good for me too. Look where that got her.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “Please—”
“Enough.” His voice thundered in the small space. Without another word, he dragged me down the hall, muttering curses under his breath. My feet stumbled against the worn carpet as he shoved me into my room.
“Pack,” he barked. “Now.”
My hands shook as I grabbed the torn duffel bag from under the bed. There wasn’t much to take—three pairs of jeans, two dresses, a couple of shirts, and the small necklace Mom had given me before she died. Steve yanked things off the dresser, tossing them into the bag carelessly.
“You should be thanking me,” he sneered. “Do you know how lucky you are? Some girls would kill for this kind of opportunity.”
My stomach churned. Something about his words made me cold all over.
Within minutes, he had my bag zipped. He shoved it at me, then gripped my arm again, dragging me toward the front door.
“Steve, please—where are we going?” My voice trembled.
“You’ll see,” he said flatly.
The night air was cool against my burning cheeks as we stepped outside. The street was quiet, the flickering streetlamp casting weak pools of light. And then I saw it.
A sleek black SUV was parked by the curb. The windows were tinted, the engine humming softly. A man leaned against the driver’s side door, his arms crossed over his chest.
He wasn’t like the drunks Steve usually hung around. No, this man was different. His tailored suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, and his dark eyes studied me with an intensity that made me shiver. Danger radiated off him in waves.
Steve dragged me closer, shoving me forward like I was nothing more than a package he was delivering.
The man’s gaze swept over me from head to toe, slow and calculating. Finally, he nodded once. His voice was low, smooth, but carried an edge sharp enough to cut.
“She’ll do.”
