THE INDEBTED BRIDE: TRAPPED IN A CONTRACT

Tara left her office, feeling a sense of exhaustion washing over her. It had been a long day of schmoozing clients and fielding endless phone calls. All she wanted to do was take a shower, be a couch potato, and veg out in front of the TV with her mother. She opened the door to her apartment carrying a bag of takeout, her feet aching in her heels.

She kicked off her shoes and sighed in relief. She saw her mother's coat was still hanging on the coat rack meaning she was home.

"Mom! I'm home!" she called out, expecting to hear her mother's warm voice.Silence was the only response.

"Mom?" she called out again louder so her mom could hear.

Again, there was no answer. The house was eerily quiet and her heart began beating faster.

"Mom?" she called out, this time a little bit softer. When she didn't get an answer, she started to get worried. She set down the bag of takeout on the counter and flicked on the light, and her heart sank. Her mother was lying on the floor, completely still.

She rushed to her side, fear gripping her heart. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "Mom!" She knelt by her mother's side, "Mom, can you hear me? Mom!" she yelled. "No, no, no!" she cried.

Her mind was racing and her thoughts were a jumbled mess. How could this be happening? Her mother had been fine just this morning. She was supposed to be watching her favorite TV show right now, not lying on the floor. "I have to call 911," she cried aloud. She fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed the number.

"911, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.

"My mother!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking. "She's not breathing!

"Okay, I need you to stay calm," the dispatcher replied. "What's your address?"

Tara rattled off her address, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"An ambulance is on the way. In the meantime, I need you to try to resuscitate your mother." She replied.

Tara's heart was pounding in her chest. "What? I... I can't..." she stammered.

"I know it's scary, but you have to try," the dispatcher assured firmly. "What's your name?", the dispatcher asked in a soft voice. "Tara", she whimpered.

"Alright Tara, I'm going to walk you through it. First, I need you to check if your mother is breathing. Do you see her chest rising and falling?"

Tara leaned over her mother's body, terrified of what she might find, she held her breath and observed, to her relief, she saw her mother's chest rising and falling ever so slightly.

"Yes," she said, her voice quivering. "She's breathing, but very shallowly."

"Okay, that's good. Now, I need you to check her pulse," the dispatcher instructed. "

Her breath shook as she fumbled around with her mother's hand, "How... how do I find her pulse?.

"Take a deep breath, Tara. Place two fingers on your mother's wrist, just below her thumb and feel for her pulse."

Her hands shaking, she placed two fingers on her mother's wrist. She waited a few seconds, and then she felt it, a faint, but steady pulse. Relief washed over her, and for a moment, she felt like she could breathe again. "I found her pulse!" she exclaimed. "She has a pulse!"

"That's wonderful!" the dispatcher acknowledged. "Now, I need you to start CPR. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Tara replied, steeling herself. "Tell me what to do."

"Okay, first I need you to put your hands together, palm to palm,"

"Next, I need you to place the heel of your hand on your mother's breastbone, in the center of her chest. Place your other hand on top of your first hand, and then interlace your fingers."

Tara did as the dispatcher instructed, her heart racing as she prepared to start CPR.

"Now I need you to press down hard and fast," the dispatcher instructed. "Push down at least two inches, and do it about 100 times a minute. Ready?"

"Yes," Tara affirmed, taking several calming breaths.

"Okay, on my count," the dispatcher said. "One, two, Three!" the dispatcher counted.

Tara placed her hands on her mother's chest and began pushing down hard and fast, just as the dispatcher had instructed. She tried to block out the fear and panic and just focus on the task at hand. As she pushed down on her mother's chest, she prayed for her to wake up.

"Good," the dispatcher encouraged. "Keep going. How are you holding up?"

"I'm... I'm okay," she said between breaths. "I'm just scared."

"I know this is scary," the dispatcher replied in a soothing voice. "But you're doing a great job," she continued. "And the paramedics are on their way. They're going to take over for you soon, so just keep going for as long as you can. I know it's tiring, but it's so important."

Tara nodded, even though the dispatcher couldn't see her. She kept pushing down on her mother's chest, her arms beginning to ache. But she pushed through the pain, knowing that her mother's life depended on it.

"You're doing so great, just a little longer," the dispatcher continued. "How are you feeling?"

"I can... I can do this," she replied, her voice trembling. "I'm... I'm not giving up."

"That's the spirit!" the dispatcher responded encouragingly. "You're doing such a wonderful job. Can you tell me your mother's name?"

"Sure," Tara replied, her breath coming in gasps. "Her name is... Mary."

"Okay, Mary," the dispatcher called out. "Keep fighting, Mary. You're doing so well. Your daughter is doing a great job."

"Thank you," Tara responded, tears streaming down her face. She kept pushing down on her mother's chest with all the strength she had left. "I love you, Mom," she whispered. "Please don't leave me."

Just then, there was a knock on the door. "The paramedics are here!" the dispatcher exclaimed. "They're going to take over for you now. Just tell them what you've been doing, and they'll take it from there."

Tara heard the paramedics enter the apartment, their voices calm and reassuring. She stumbled to her feet, letting them take over. As she watched them work on her mother, she sank to the floor, the adrenaline leaving her body.

As she sat there, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw a paramedic kneeling beside her, a kind smile on his face. "You did a great job, young lady," he said. "Your mother is lucky to have you."

Tara nodded, unable to speak. She watched as the paramedics loaded her mother onto a gurney and wheeled her out of the apartment. One of the paramedics came over to her and placed her hand on her shoulder softly, "are you going to come along with us on the ambulance or will you be driving behind us?" She chose the former as she couldn't think of being away from her mum.

She followed the ambulance all the way to the hospital, her heart pounding and her breath catching in her throat. As the paramedics wheeled her mother into the emergency room, she watched with a sense of helplessness, praying to whatever deity might be listening to spare her mother's life.

Tara stood there, frozen in place, as she watched the doctors and nurses rush her mother into the operating room. The door closed behind them, and she felt like her world had been turned upside down. She felt lost, adrift, with nowhere to turn. She paced back and forth waiting for anybody to come and fill her in on what was going on with her mother. After what felt like a lifetime, a woman in a white coat approached her.

"Are you Mary's daughter?" she asked gently.

Tara nodded, her throat tight. "Yes," she managed to croak out.

The woman put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm Dr. Singh," she introduced. "Why don't we sit down and talk?"

"Your mother collapsed because of a heart attack and she needs emergency surgery. She needs a procedure called coronary artery bypass graft surgery( CABG). To get around the blockage in her heart, we use a detour, in this case, another blood vessel to keep the blood flowing.

As Dr. Singh detailed the diagnosis using the precise language of a seasoned medical professional, Tara's bewildered expression became increasingly apparent. It was as if the doctor was speaking in a foreign language.

And then, as if sensing Tara's struggle, Dr. Singh's warm smile broke the tense atmosphere.

"In technical terms, we take a vein or artery from another part of the body, like the leg or arm. Then, we connect it to the blocked portion of the coronary artery, so the blood can bypass the blockage and continue to flow through the heart. The body can adjust to this change pretty easily, and most patients see an improvement in their symptoms after the surgery". Dr Singh explained.

"Okay, that's good, " Tara responded with a deep exhale of relief.

"Now, do you have a family plan or a dependent coverage health insurance or any other means to cover the surgery cost?

"I...I don't know, I'm not sure, I'll have to check." Tara stammered.

The doctor's gaze was patient and sympathetic. "I understand this is a lot to take in," she soothed. "We'll do everything we can to help your mother, regardless of your insurance.

"Thank you," Tara managed to croak out. "Actually, this isn't her first time in the hospital, though last time she was awake and alert. The doctor we met then, told us she needed a percutaneous coronary intervention". The words felt heavy on her tongue, and she struggled to keep her voice steady as she explained.

"A PCI surgery is not only risky for your mother in her current state, but would also be less effective than a CABG. Now, I need you to sign some forms so we can stabilize her for now," the doctor urged, handing her a clipboard and a pen.

The doctor's words washed over her, but she could barely comprehend them. Instead, she tried to focus on the clipboard she was holding out. Tara took it and signed the forms mechanically, her mind still reeling from the news.

"Do you think you can get the eighty thousand dollars payment across within twenty-four hours?" Dr. Singh inquired softly.

She felt dizzy and lightheaded as she stared at the doctor in disbelief. Eighty thousand dollars?

"I'm sorry, but there's no way I can get that kind of money," she replied, her voice hoarse. "Is there any other option?"

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Singh responded. "Without the surgery, your mother's chances of survival are very slim. We'll administer some drugs to her, but their effects are not long-lasting".

Tara sank back into her chair, feeling completely hopeless. What was she going to do?

"Where could she get such an exorbitant amount of money?" she thought desperately.

"If only her mother had agreed to undergo the PCI surgery when she first had an attack," she thought, groaning in frustration. Instead, her mother had advised her to save the money for herself and not use it to pay for the angioplasty that the doctor had recommended. The consequences of that decision were now weighing heavily on her.

"A loan would take too long, and I'm not sure my mother has that much time," she thought, her mind spinning. "I could sell my kidney, but that would take too long, too. I don't know anyone who could loan me that much money." Her thoughts were spiraling, and she felt like she was running out of options.

And then, as if a light bulb had gone off in her head, an idea hit her. She could sell her body to the highest bidder. It was a desperate, dangerous thought but it was the only fastest way she could raise the money.

She was no stranger to beauty, having been complimented on her looks many times. She had always been reserved when it came to men because of what she witnessed her mother going through growing up but she would gladly sleep with fifty men to raise the money, she was willing to do anything to save her mother.

"Doctor," she called out, mustering all her resolve, "I will raise the money you need by any means necessary. Please help my mother in the meantime."

--

As soon as she arrived back home, she felt the need to cleanse herself of all the negative thoughts that were cluttering her mind. She headed straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower, the warm water cascaded down her body, washing away the dreaded plan. She took her time shaving, making sure to remove every hair, wanting to be as smooth as possible. After she was done, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself up in a fluffy towel.

She walked over to her vanity and began applying her favorite body lotion, taking care to moisturize every inch of her skin. She then reached for her most luxurious black dress, the one that hugged her curves in all the right places, and slipped it on.

She then spent a good amount of time applying her makeup, wanting to look her best for the night ahead. She started with a light foundation, followed by a bit of concealer to hide any imperfections. She then moved on to her eyes, applying a smokey eyeshadow, a coat of mascara, and a swipe of eyeliner. She finished off her look with a bold red lipstick, feeling like a million bucks. She took a deep breath as she stared at herself in the mirror, she felt a wave of self-doubt wash over her. She had never done anything like this before, and she felt out of her depth. But then she remembered her mother, lying in the hospital bed, fighting for her life. She straightened her shoulders.

"I can do this." She muttered with false confidence, made her way out of her apartment and into the night, she knew exactly what she was looking for. She wanted someone who would be willing to pay the right price for her impending shame.

____

She got out of the taxi and stared up at the Club Delray , a place that held a reputation for being the most influential and exclusive venue in Los Angeles. The doorman greeted her with a friendly smile and opened the door for her, revealing the lavish interior of the club.

Stepping inside, the thumping bass of the music hit her like a wave. The room was dimly lit, with neon lights and strobes flashing around the dance floor. Despite the crowd of people, she felt alone and out of place. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was to come. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol, and she felt a bead of sweat trickling down her back.

Her eyes darted around the crowded room, scanning the faces of the people who were lost in the upbeat music and hazy atmosphere. She made her way to the bar, the sound of clinking glasses and loud conversations growing louder with each step.

As she reached the bar, she leaned forward towards the bartender, raising her voice above the noise, "Gimme two shots of your strongest liquor," she demanded, her words slurred slightly by her nerves. The bartender gave her a nod with a flirty wink that made her lips curl up wryly.

Without missing a beat, he passed the order to her. She picked up the two shot glasses and downed them within seconds, but the alcohol didn't seem to have the intended effect of calming her nerves. She took three more shots in quick succession, the alcohol burning down her throat.

"Hey, take it easy," the bartender cooed with a smile, amused by her eagerness. But she ignored his warning and ordered two more shots. Just as she was about to throw the alcohol down her throat, a voice stopped her midway. It was a deep baritone voice that sent a shiver down her spine and made her turn around to see who it was.

Tara looked up and saw a tall, dark-haired man standing next to her, his hair was slightly tousled as if he had run his fingers through it repetitively. He wore a dark pair of jeans that fit him perfectly, accentuating his long legs, and a t-shirt that hugged his well-defined muscles, outlining his impressive physique. She caught a glimpse of the beginning of a tattoo on his forearm, and his veins were bulging, making his arms look even more muscular. His sharp, clean-shaven jawline and the faint smile playing on his plump lips made him look breathtakingly handsome.

"You're not really going to drink all that, are you?" he asked, playfully raising an eyebrow. She was at a loss for words, stammering as she tried to respond. His voice was commanding and soothing at the same time with a little hint of an accent.

"Relax," he teased. "Take a breath. You look like you need it." His eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to him. She wondered who he was and why he was talking to her, but she was too nervous to ask.

Tara took a deep breath and glanced up nervously at the stranger again. "Thanks," she replied, with a small smile. "I'm sorry, I just...I'm a little out of my element here." She explained.

He smiled warmly. "I understand," he expressed in a soothing tone. "Why don't you slow down the alcohol, and I'll get you something non-alcoholic to drink?"

Tara hesitated for a moment but nodded silently feeling grateful for the friendly gesture. The stranger ordered her a soda and placed it in front of her.

"So, what's your story? He asked out of the blue, leaning dangerously close to her, " How did you end up here?" He prompted, His eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Money," she blurted out. "A lot of money."

The man raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Money, huh? "That's quite an entrance line, sweetheart. Most women here don't come straight to the point."

"I'm not here for games," she snapped.

"Let's say I give you this money, what exactly are you willing to do in return?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Shame burned in Tara's cheeks, but desperation drowned it out. "Anything," she whispered.

He studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes intense. "Anything?" he echoed. "That's a very broad term, sweetheart."

Tara met his gaze, her resolve hardening. "I need eighty thousand dollars," she stated, her voice firm despite the tremor running through her. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

The amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by something akin to curiosity. He studied her for a long moment, his gaze so intense it felt like he was peeling back layers of her soul.

"Eighty thousand is a hefty price tag," he finally acknowledged. "What exactly is the anything you are offering in return?"

"Myself," she responded, the word heavy on her tongue. "For one night."

A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. As she waited for him to respond, she felt her face heat up with embarrassment. She realized how forward she had sounded. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "That was inappropriate. Please forget I asked."

"I don't know how good you are to want that price but I can't give a whore that amount." He leered and lazily ran his eyes around her body. "But for that, I'll pay at most fifteen thousand dollars and that's only because I'm feeling generous."

She couldn't believe the audacity of the man sitting across from her. How dare he assume such a thing about her? She wanted to lash out at him, to defend her honor and tell him off for calling her a whore. But then she remembered why she was there in the first place. Her mother's life was on the line.

She wasn't a whore, she was just desperate. She needed the money, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get it. But this man, with his smug attitude and lecherous gaze, was making her question whether it was all worth it.

"I'm not a whore," she declared firmly, trying to keep her voice steady.

He scoffed in derision at her statement. "We know your type, so are you doing this or not?" he shot back, his tone dripping with condescension.

She took a deep breath and tried to maintain her composure. "Look, I know it's a lot of money, but I have my reasons for asking for that amount. I can assure you that I can provide a service that's worth every penny," she replied, trying to sound confident.

The man chuckled and took a sip of his drink. "Oh, I'm sure you can, darling. But I'm not in the business of overpaying for services if you catch my drift."

She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to slap the smug look off his face. She had to think fast and come up with a way to convince him to agree to her terms.

"Okay, how about this," she started with a sly smile. "I'll make you a deal. You give me ten thousand up front and the rest after I deliver the service. If you're not satisfied, you don't have to pay me the rest."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her offer. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded and reached for his wallet. "Deal. But you better deliver on your end, or you'll regret it."