Chapter 1

"I need the money, Jaida. My mom's in the hospital." My plea was met with a sneer from my ex-fiancé, Kirk Knapp, who then dropped a thick file on the table, detailing every single dollar he'd spent on me during our relationship.

Then it got worse. "One box of tampons, $8.99. One pack of birth control pills, $50. A lace nightgown from Victoria's Secret... $78." He announced I owed him $200,000, which he generously reduced to $150,000 since I was trying to collect a debt from his niece.

My humiliation was a spectacle for his wealthy friends, who then suggested I "work it off on my back." Kirk, enjoying my torment, offered an alternative: drink ten bottles of whiskey for the money. I did it, desperate for my mother's surgery.

I rushed to the hospital, cash in hand, only to be told by the doctor, "An hour ago, we received a call from Mr. Knapp. He instructed us to halt all life-sustaining treatment for your mother. He said you could no longer afford it."

My world shattered. I screamed into the phone at Kirk, "Why would you do that?" His cruel laugh echoed, "Because you dared to bother Jaida. This is your punishment, Holly. Her life is on you." My mother was gone.

I didn't understand why he would do something so monstrous. Why would he take away my last hope, my last family, for a petty revenge?

With nothing left to lose, I accepted an offer to join a national research project, determined to build a new life, free from his shadow.

Chapter 1

"I need the money, Jaida. My mom's in the hospital."

Jaida Goff sniffled, hiding behind her uncle, Kirk Knapp. "Holly, I don't have it. You're scaring me."

Kirk, my ex-fiancé, put a protective arm around his niece. His cold eyes landed on me. "Stop threatening her."

"I'm not threatening her," I said, my hands clenched. "She owes me fifty thousand dollars. I have the IOU."

"Do you?" Kirk sneered and dropped a thick file on the polished table of the private club. The sound echoed in the sudden silence. "I have some records of my own."

He opened the folder. Inside were pages and pages of printed documents, a detailed financial record of our entire relationship.

"Let's see," he began, his voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "Two years, six months, and twelve days together. It's all here."

He started reading. The list covered everything, from the rent on the apartment we shared to the movie tickets he bought on our first date. Every meal, every gift, every single dollar was accounted for. It was a complete quantification of our love.

Then it got worse. "One box of tampons, $8.99. One pack of birth control pills, $50. A lace nightgown from Victoria's Secret... $78."

A wave of heat rushed to my face. The room was full of Kirk's wealthy friends, all of them staring, some of them smirking. My humiliation was a spectacle.

"The grand total you owe me is two hundred thousand dollars," Kirk announced, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "But since you paid for my niece's loan, we'll call it an even one-fifty."

He leaned back, a mocking smile on his lips, his eyes cold and distant. "How do you plan to pay me back, Holly?"

The question hung in the air, thick and heavy.

"You're broke, aren't you?" he continued, his voice sharp. "How does it feel? Coming here to threaten a young girl for money?"

Every word was a calculated strike, painting me as a desperate, violent woman.

The room fell into a terrible quiet. Every eye was on me, judging, dissecting. I was an animal in a cage.

Then, a ripple of laughter started, quickly growing into a roar of mockery. The sound washed over me, drowning me in shame.

"A hundred and fifty thousand? She'll have to sell a kidney for that!" one of Kirk's friends shouted.

"Sell more than that," another one jeered, his eyes roving over my body. "She could work it off on her back, right here, right now. How much for an hour, Kirk?"

The suggestions got cruder, the laughter louder.

Kirk just watched, a lazy, indifferent expression on his face. He didn't stop them. He was enjoying it.

"Or," he said, tapping the folder, "we can settle this in court. I have all the proof I need."

My face was pale. A sharp pain shot through my chest. This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. He had a history of making me pay for Jaida's mistakes.

I remembered the time Jaida crashed his car. He made me kneel on broken glass for hours. I remembered when she lost a business deal for him. He locked me outside in a snowstorm all night.

And now this. I just wanted the money she owed me, money I desperately needed for my mother's surgery. Instead, I was being publicly stripped of my dignity.

Everyone was waiting for my next move, hungry for more entertainment.

But my mother's pale face flashed in my mind. Her life depended on this. Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I turned to the man who made the lewd suggestion. "What are the terms?"

He looked surprised, then his eyes lit up with a sick excitement. He glanced at Kirk, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"Alright," the man said, a greasy smile spreading across his face. "See those ten bottles of whiskey on the bar? Finish them all. Every last drop. And the money is yours."

Ten bottles of hard liquor. It was a challenge designed to break me.

Without a moment's hesitation, I walked to the bar. "Pour them."

The bartender looked at Kirk, who signaled his approval. Ten shot glasses were lined up, each filled to the brim.

I picked up the first one and threw it back. The liquor burned a path down my throat, a fire in my stomach. I gasped, but immediately reached for the next one.

One after another, I drank. The room was silent again, the only sound my own choked breaths. The alcohol was a poison, searing my insides, but I kept going.

The scornful gazes of the crowd felt like physical blows. Kirk's stare was the worst, cold and piercing, as if he was watching a particularly interesting insect squirm.

Dignity, I thought, what is dignity when my mother is dying? Money is all that matters now.

Finally, the tenth glass was empty. I slammed it down on the bar. The room swam before my eyes, my vision blurred. I was burning from the inside out. My eyes were bloodshot.

I stumbled back towards Kirk. "The money."

He didn't look at me. He looked at the man who made the bet. "Pay her."

"Sure," the man said with a laugh. "Charity for the poor."

He pulled out a thick wad of cash and threw it on the floor at my feet. The bills scattered around my shoes like trash.

I bent down, my body screaming in protest, and gathered the money. Each bill felt like a brand on my skin. Without another word, I ran out of the club and took a taxi straight to the hospital.

I burst through the doors, waving the cash. "Doctor! I have the money for the surgery! Please, save my mother!"

The doctor looked at me with pity. "I'm sorry, Ms. Austin. It's too late."

My blood ran cold. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"An hour ago, we received a call from Mr. Knapp," the doctor said, his voice gentle. "He instructed us to halt all life-sustaining treatment for your mother. He said you could no longer afford it."

The world tilted on its axis. The money in my hand felt worthless, a cruel joke. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely dial.

Kirk picked up on the first ring.

"Why?" I screamed into the phone, tears streaming down my face. "Why would you do that?"

His laugh was the cruelest sound I had ever heard. "Why? Because you dared to bother Jaida. This is your punishment, Holly. Her life is on you."

He hung up.

The sharp, continuous beep of the heart monitor cut through my haze of shock and grief. The flat line on the screen was a final, undeniable truth.

My phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor.

My eyes, already red from the alcohol, burned with a new, terrible fire. I rushed to my mother's bedside.

Her hand was already cold. The warmth was gone.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Mom, please wake up."

There was no answer. Only the deafening sound of the flat line.

I collapsed to my knees, an animal cry tearing from my throat. "MOM!"

I knelt by her bed for a day and a night. The nurses came and went, their faces a blur of sympathy. My eyes were empty, my soul hollowed out.

The reality of her death settled in slowly, a crushing weight.

The next day, the doctor handed me a letter. It was from my mother.

Her handwriting was weak, the words short. I read it through a fresh wave of tears.

It was a letter of freedom. She told me not to be tied down by her anymore, to live my own life, to fly.

After the simple funeral, I made a decision. There was nothing left for me here. No love, no family, no hope. Only a burning need to escape.

I picked up my phone and made a call.

"Professor Crane," I said, my voice steady for the first time in days. "I'd like to accept the offer to join the national research project."