Chapter 8 The Ghost of a Home

POV: Liora Hayes

The town car glided through the narrow, potholed streets of my neighborhood. Everything looked different through the tinted windows. The peeling paint of the laundromat, the rusted fire escapes, the trash piled high on the corners....it all looked like a movie set I was finally leaving behind.

"Ten minutes," Xavier said, not looking up from his tablet. "Pack a bag. Essentials only. Mr. Volkov has already arranged for a new wardrobe to be delivered to the estate. Don't bring anything that smells of this place."

"This 'place' is my home," I snapped, my voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and newfound fury.

"Not anymore," he replied smoothly. "As of ten minutes ago, your lease is effectively terminated. I've handled the paperwork."

The car pulled up to the curb of my apartment building. My heart sank. My meager belongings weren't inside my apartment. They were on the sidewalk.

Three heavy black trash bags and a small, battered cardboard box were piled next to the front stoop. Rain had already begun to soak through the cardboard.

"What is this?" I breathed, pushing the door open before Xavier's driver could even get out.

I stepped out into the cold air. Standing in the doorway of the building was Mr. Henderson, my landlord. He was a man who smelled of stale cigarettes and took pride in being the first person to kick someone when they were down.

"Henderson!" I yelled, splashing through a puddle to reach the pile. "What did you do? I told you I'd have the rent by tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow came early, Hayes," Henderson spat, leaning against the doorframe. "I got a call from some fancy lawyer an hour ago. Said you were 'relocating' and that your tenancy was void. I don't keep deadbeats under my roof a second longer than I have to. I already let the unit to a guy who paid six months upfront in cash."

"You threw my life on the street in the rain?" I grabbed the cardboard box. My father's old books were inside, the edges of the pages already curling from the moisture.

"I did you a favor by not calling the city to haul it away as junk," he grunted. "Now move your trash off my sidewalk. You're blocking the entrance for the 'real' tenants."

I felt a sob rising in my throat, but I forced it down. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I wouldn't give Xavier the satisfaction of seeing me break over a pile of wet clothes and old books.

I looked at the trash bags. My entire existence was reduced to four bundles of plastic. My high school yearbook, the sweater my mother knitted me two winters ago, the few framed photos of a time when we were a family.

Xavier stepped out of the car, his polished shoes carefully avoiding the grime of the pavement. He looked at the pile with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Leave it," he commanded.

"No," I said, my voice shaking. "I'm not leaving my mother's photos."

"The photos stay. The rest is garbage," Xavier said, nodding to the driver.

The driver stepped forward, grabbed the cardboard box, and tossed it into the trunk of the car. He ignored the trash bags.

"My clothes-"

"You won't be wearing those rags where you're going, Liora," Xavier said, his voice cold and final. "Every second we stand here, your mother's doctors are waiting for the second half of that wire transfer. Do you want to argue about a ten-dollar sweater, or do you want to save her life?"

I looked at Henderson, who was smirking. I looked at the trash bags, now slick with oil-streaked rainwater.

I realized then that Darian Volkov wasn't just buying my future. He was erasing my past. He wanted me to enter his world with nothing, so that I would have no choice but to depend on him for everything.

I turned my back on the apartment. I turned my back on the only life I had ever known.

"Fine," I whispered. "Let's go."

As I climbed back into the heated luxury of the car, I looked out the rear window. Henderson was already dragging one of my trash bags toward the dumpster, looking for anything he could sell.

I clutched my father's broken watch in my pocket. It was the only thing they hadn't seen. The only thing they couldn't take.

Xavier tapped a command into his tablet. "The final transfer for the hospital has been authorized. Your mother is officially a 'VIP' patient now, Liora. You should be happy."

"I'll be happy when she can breathe on her own," I said, staring straight ahead. "Until then, I'm just a prisoner."

Xavier didn't respond. He just signaled the driver.

The car pulled away, leaving the slums behind. We were heading toward the glass towers of the city center...toward the man who had bought me.

Darian Volkov was waiting, and as the city lights blurred into streaks of white and red, I realized the "service" hadn't even started yet, and I already felt like I was dying.