Chapter 6 The cost of protection

Marilyn didn't sleep that night.

She lay awake on Carl's guest bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, replaying the scene in the café over and over again. The man's voice smooth, controlled. A friend of the family. The way Carl had gone still, like a warning bell had gone off inside him.

Concern.

That word wouldn't leave her alone. She tossed and turned on the bed trying to figure out what it all meant. She prided herself on being perceptive. On reading people. And something about that interaction told her she'd just stepped into a world she didn't understand, one where conversations happened behind closed doors, and consequences didn't always announce themselves.

When morning came, Carl was already awake.

He stood at the kitchen counter, jacket on, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and sharp.

"I told you not to involve her. She has nothing to do with it," he said.

Marilyn froze in the hallway.

There was a pause. Carl's jaw tightened.

"No," he continued. "You don't get to decide that for me."

Another pause, longer this time.

"I'm not twelve anymore," Carl said coldly. "And I won't let you control my life through intimidation."

He ended the call and stood there, motionless.

Marilyn cleared her throat softly.

Carl turned, surprise flickering across his face. "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough," she replied quietly.

They stood in silence, the air heavy with things unsaid.

"That man yesterday," Marilyn said. "He was your father, wasn't he?"

Carl didn't deny it. "Yes."

Her stomach tightened. "Why would he come looking for me? Is my being here bringing trouble?"Carl hesitated. That alone told her everything.

"Because he thinks people can be removed like obstacles," Carl said finally. "And because he believes he's protecting me."

Marilyn crossed her arms. "From what?"

"From attachment."

The word landed hard.

"I didn't ask to be part of some power struggle," Marilyn said. "I didn't sign up for this. I'm barely surviving. The last thing I'd want is to be in the frontline of whatever battlefield this is"

"I know," Carl said quickly. "And I'm sorry."

She looked at him then really looked. The certainty that usually defined him was fractured, replaced with tension and restraint.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked.

Carl met her gaze. "That my father doesn't back down easily."

A chill crept up her spine, "what's that supposed to mean".

Two days later, things began to unravel.

The café's landlord showed up unannounced, wearing a forced smile and carrying a clipboard.

"I'm afraid there's been a reassessment," he said, tapping the paper. "The rent will increase. Effective immediately."

Marilyn stared at him. "That's impossible. We have a lease."

He shrugged. "Legal loopholes. You'll have thirty days."

Thirty days.

The words echoed in her head as she stood behind the counter afterward, hands numb. The café barely survived as it was. An increase like that would destroy it.

That same afternoon, Marilyn's landlord called again this time about her apartment.

"We'll need the unit vacated sooner than expected," he said casually. "New investors."

New investors?

Her chest tightened.

By evening, exhaustion and fear had woven themselves into something dangerously close to despair. She didn't call Carl. She didn't want to. She needed to think clearly, without his presence complicating everything.

But clarity never came.

Instead, an envelope appeared slipped under the café door after closing.

Inside was a cashier's check.

An amount so large Marilyn's breath caught.

No note. No explanation.

Just a bank name she recognized from the city's elite.

Her hands began to shake.

Carl was in his office when his assistant hesitantly spoke up.

"Mr. Woode... your father has been making calls."

Carl looked up sharply. "To who?"

"Property owners. Investors. Quiet inquiries."

Carl stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

He dialed his father immediately.

"What did you do?" Carl demanded the moment the line connected.

"Lower your voice," Darius replied calmly. "You're welcome."

"You went after her didn't you?" Carl said, fury rising. "You promised-"

"I promised to protect you," Darius interrupted. "And I am."

"You're destroying her life. She doesn't deserve any of this."

"I'm simplifying it," Darius corrected. "She'll take the money. They always do. And when she's gone, this... distraction will end."

Carl's hands trembled. "You don't get to decide that."

Darius's tone hardened. "You're too close. You're thinking emotionally."

"Because I'm human," Carl shot back. "Something you seem not to be and have forgotten that I am"

There was a pause.

"She'll leave," Darius said quietly. "Or she'll be removed from your orbit another way. I suggest you accept the cleaner option."

The line went dead.

Marilyn sat alone in her apartment that night, the envelope on the table in front of her like an accusation.

It didn't take genius to connect the dots.

Powerful father. Sudden pressure. Money offered as a solution.

Her chest burned as understanding settled in.

Carl hadn't said anything-but maybe he didn't need to.

Maybe this was his way of fixing things after all.

Or maybe he had been planning to get back at her this whole time for the coffee incident by bringing her to her knees then throwing money at her so she would bark on command. Tears blurred her vision as humiliation flooded in, sharp and unforgiving. She'd let herself believe she mattered. That what they were building was real.

But to him?

She was a problem to be managed.

Something to just throw money at.

A fool to be paid off.

Her phone buzzed with Carl's name lighting up the screen.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Then she turned it off.

If this was how his world worked, she wanted no part of it.

And somewhere across the city, Carl Woode. "Marilyn please answer to phone. We need to talk", Carl left one of numerous voicemails as he tried to reach Marilyn but got no response. It was then he realized too late that the very thing he was trying to protect might already be slipping through his fingers