Broken Glass
Victor was waiting in the lobby, leaning against the reception desk like he owned the place. Designer suit. Expensive watch. Nothing about him screamed debt collector except the dead look in his eyes when they landed on her.
Elara’s stomach twisted.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Not here.” She grabbed his arm, steering him toward the exit. The last thing she needed was her colleagues witnessing this. “Outside.”
They crossed the marble lobby in silence, through the revolving doors and into the cold January air. The parking lot was mostly empty at this hour, just a few scattered cars and the distant hum of traffic. Elara didn’t stop until they were behind a concrete pillar, away from the building’s glass walls.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice came out harsh. “How did you even find my office?”
Victor smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Your father gave me your details. Workplace, address, everything. Luca’s been very cooperative lately.”
Of course he had. Luca would sell out his own children if it meant saving his skin for another day.
“What do you want?”
“Your father hasn’t been answering his phone for two weeks. His weekly payment is overdue.” Victor pulled out his phone, scrolling through something before turning the screen toward her. Numbers. Dates. A debt that had somehow grown even larger. “The house goes up for collateral if I don’t get payment by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Elara’s voice cracked. “That’s impossible. I need more time.”
“You’ve had ten years, Elara.”
“Please.” The word tasted like ash. She hated begging. Hated the way her voice went small and desperate. But this was her mother’s house. The only thing they had left. “Just give me one more week. I’ll figure something out. I’ll get you the money.”
“One week won’t change anything.” Victor pocketed his phone. “You don’t have it now, you won’t have it then.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“How? You going to ask your boss for a raise?” He gestured toward the tower behind them. “Girls like you don’t get miracles. You get buried.”
“I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m asking for time.”
Victor studied her for a long moment. She could see him calculating, weighing her worth against whatever pressure Luca’s debt had put on him. Finally, he sighed.
“Twenty-four hours, Elara. That’s all you get.” He started walking back toward the street. “Clock’s ticking.” Tick. Tok.
She watched him go, her legs suddenly unsteady. Twenty-four hours. One day to come up with money she didn’t have. One day before they lost everything.
The sound of footsteps made her turn.
Marcus was walking through the parking lot, phone pressed to his ear, talking in that clipped tone he used for business calls.
He must have been heading to his car. His eyes swept past her, lingering for just a second before moving on.
He’d heard. She knew he’d heard. The parking lot wasn’t that big, and Victor’s voice carried.
But Marcus kept walking. Didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge her. Just continued toward his black Mercedes like she was part of the scenery.
Elara stood there, watching him disappear into his car, and felt something cold settle in her chest.
Of course he didn’t care. Why would he? She was just the assistant. Just another problem that wasn’t his to solve.
She went back inside, grabbed her bag from her office, and left without telling anyone. The building felt too small suddenly. Too suffocating.
“Elara!”
Emeka caught her at the elevator, slightly out of breath like he’d jogged to catch up. “Where are you going? It’s only 2 PM.”
“I need to see my mum.” The lie came easily. Too easily. “She’s not feeling well.”
His expression softened immediately. “Oh babe, I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”
“No. I just need to go.”
“Okay. Text me if you need me, yeah?”
She nodded and stepped into the elevator before he could see her face crumble.
The subway ride home was a blur. Bodies pressed together. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne. Someone’s music bleeding through their headphones. Elara stared at the floor and tried not to think about Victor’s words. Twenty-four hours. The house. Her mother.
One million dollars.
The thought of what happened at the office started coming back to her.
It’s absurd she’s even thinking about it, it’s Marcus Thorne, why would ever want to marry Marcus Thorne, she thought to herself.
No. She wasn’t that desperate. She wasn’t going to sell herself to Marcus Thorne for money. There had to be another way.
Her apartment building looked the same as always. The familiar brownstone that had been home for the past five years. She climbed the steps to her floor, keys already in hand.
The door was open.
Elara stopped. She’d locked it this morning. She always locked it. Her hand pushed the door wider.
Inside, her wardrobe was open, clothes thrown across the floor. Drawers pulled out and overturned. Everything scattered.
“No. No no no.”
She dropped her bag and ran to her bedroom closet. Shoved aside the shoes and boxes stacked at the bottom. Her hands found the metal lockbox she kept hidden in the back corner.
It was open. The small lock was broken.
Empty.
Her heart skipped.
Three thousand dollars. Every cent she’d managed to save over the past months. Money meant for her mother’s treatment. Money she’d scraped together from skipped meals and extra shifts and selling anything she didn’t absolutely need.
Gone.
Only one person had a key to her apartment.
Luca.
Her father had robbed her.
