Chapter 4 Crossing The Line

CHAPTER FOUR

Ivy's POV

"You know what? Take this," she said and emptied the glass of champagne on my body.

"That's more like it," Mr. Valentino said, leaning in to kiss my mother's cheek.

"Drag her out of this room now, or I'll make sure you never get a job again," her husband barked to the guard, who wasted no time before dragging me, and I let him. I had lost all hope in them.

The guard dragged me outside and delivered three violent kicks to my body before slamming the gate shut in my face.

The tears I'd been holding back trickled down my face, hot and hard.

I couldn't bear to lose my father. He was the only thing I had left, and losing him was like dying.

The tears wouldn't stop. They burned as they ran down my face, my chest shaking with every breath. I stood there for a while, staring at the big iron gate, hoping... I don't even know what I was hoping for.

Nothing came-no cab, no bike. Just the night breeze on my wet clothes, the sticky smell of champagne clinging to me.

So I walked.

One street. Then another. My legs already ached, every step heavier than the last. The heels I wore cut into my skin, and the guard's kicks still throbbed deep in my ribs.

The streets felt longer than usual.

After a while, I couldn't feel my feet properly. My head was starting to feel strange-light, but heavy at the same time. I slowed down, rubbing at my temples.

Everything around me seemed a little tilted. I tried to blink it away, but the dizziness just got worse. My stomach turned, and I pressed a hand to my head, hoping it would pass.

It didn't.

My knees gave out before I could even find a place to sit. The road came rushing up toward me, and all I felt was the cold, rough ground against my cheek.

Then... everything went dark.

.

.

.

I blinked my eyes open to low, flickering light.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice resounded in my ears. I turned my head to see a middle-aged woman standing over me.

"Where am I?" I asked, confused.

"You don't remember? We saw you by the roadside, passed out, in the evening," she explained, and I blinked again, trying to piece my thoughts together as everything came flooding back.

My father... forty-eight hours, my mother's cold eyes, Valentino's house, the guards...

"Damn! Damn no," I muttered, scrambling up so fast my head spun. Pain shot through my ribs, and I hissed, clutching my side.

"Careful, dear," the woman said, moving closer, but I pulled back, my breath coming quick and shallow.

"How long-how long have I been here?" My voice cracked.

"A day. You were out cold. My husband and I brought you in before someone else found you." She pointed to an older man sitting quietly in the corner, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup. He gave me a slow nod.

"A day! Damn!" My chest tightened. I had less than eight hours left to get the money.

My father's face flashed in my head, the last time I saw him. The way he'd smiled at me, even with fear in his eyes. If I didn't make that payment... he'd be taken off life support.

I stumbled toward the door. "Thank you-thank you for helping me, but I have to go-"

"You can't go like that," the man finally spoke, his voice deep and calm. "You're hurt."

"I don't care," I snapped, my voice shaking. "I don't care if I'm bleeding, I don't care if I collapse again-my father's life is on the line."

The woman stepped in front of me, her hands gentle but firm on my shoulders. "At least drink some water before you leave."

I wanted to scream. To push past her. But my lips were dry, my throat tight, and I knew every second I wasted was another second closer to losing him.

"Thank you for helping me," I rasped before grabbing my clothes to leave.

"At least take this," she said and slipped a $200 note into my hands.

My eyes brimmed with tears, but this wasn't the time to be weak again. I didn't have the luxury.

"Thank you," I muttered again, dipping my hands to make sure the card was still there before leaving.

I flagged a taxi and handed the card to the driver.

"This location, please." The professional smirk on his face shifted to something demeaning before he opened the car door.

He didn't even bother to hide the way his eyes lingered on my drenched clothes and the bruises peeking from under my sleeves.

"Rough night?" he asked, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Just drive," I said, my voice flat.

He kept glancing at me in the rear view mirror. "You sure you wanna go there? It's... not the kind of place for someone like you."

Someone like me. I almost laughed.

"I said drive," I repeated, my voice sharper this time.

The rest of the ride was silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional groan of the taxi's suspension. My fingers fidgeted with the $200 note in my pocket, but my mind was on the card-the only lifeline I had left. If this failed, there would be nothing else.

When we finally stopped, the air outside hit me like a wall-thick with the smell of oil, smoke, and something metallic and sensual.

"This is it," he said, and I sighed, checking the gown I'd been wearing for almost two days now before stepping out of his car and paying.

And here I was, selling my body for money.