Harper.
The doctor signed the discharge papers with a flourish. He had a kind, tired face.
“Physically, you’ve made a full recovery, Ms. Steel. It’s remarkable.”
He handed me a small bag with the clothes I was found in, now cleaned and folded, and a pamphlet for a downtown shelter.
“The hospital’s social worker can help you with resources,” he added, seeing the look in my eyes.
I just nodded. Resources. I had nothing. No money, no home, no voice. I was a ghost in a stolen body.
I changed into the clothes. A simple black dress, thin and worn. It clung to a figure I didn't recognize. Stepping out of the hospital’s air conditioned sterility and into the city’s humid embrace was a shock. The noise was a physical assault. Horns blared, people shouted, sirens wailed in the distance.
I had nowhere to go. I started walking, my steps aimless, my mind a vortex of rage and disbelief. Two years. Caleb and Lara had two years to solidify their empire built on my murder.
I barely made it two blocks before a voice cut through the noise.
“Well, well. Look what the tide washed in.”
I turned. Two men blocked my path. One was built like a refrigerator, with a shaved head and a tattoo of a snake crawling up his thick neck. The other was smaller, wiry, with greasy hair and a cheap suit.
“Fiona Steel,” the greasy one said with a grin that didn't reach his cold eyes. “We heard you took a little swim.”
I said nothing, my face a blank mask. My silence wasn't a choice, but I would use it as a weapon.
The big one took a step closer, crowding me against the brick wall of a building. “The boss was very upset when you disappeared. He doesn't like it when people don't pay their debts.”
“One hundred thousand dollars, Fiona,” the greasy one said, clicking his tongue. “That’s a lot of money. You ran up quite the tab.”
I met his gaze, my stormy grey eyes holding his. I didn’t flinch. I let him see the cold fury simmering there. For a second, he looked taken aback.
“What’s the matter?” he sneered, recovering. “Cat got your tongue? Heard you swallowed half the harbor.”
The big one chuckled. “It don't matter if she can talk. She’s got other assets.” His eyes roamed over my body, and a wave of revulsion washed over me. This was what it felt like. This was the vulnerability that came with this kind of beauty.
“You’re coming with us,” the greasy one said, reaching for my arm.
Before his fingers could touch me, a voice, smooth and cold as polished steel, cut through the air.
“I don’t think so.”
A long, black car had pulled up to the curb, so silent I hadn’t even heard it arrive. A man was leaning against the passenger door. He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair styled with effortless precision. Everything about him screamed power and danger.
The two goons froze. Their confidence evaporated instantly.
“Mr. Cross,” the greasy one stammered, his face paling. “We, uh, we didn't know she was with you.”
“She isn’t,” the man, Mr. Cross, said without looking at me. His focus was entirely on them. “But she is my business. Not yours. You are poaching on my territory.”
“Our boss, he just wants what he's owed…”
“Your boss is a cockroach,” Mr. Cross said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. “And I am the exterminator. You have three seconds to get in your car and disappear before I decide to make this a more permanent lesson.”
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The threat was absolute.
The two men practically tripped over each other backing away. They scrambled into a beat up sedan parked down the street and sped off, the squeal of their tires a testament to their fear.
Silence descended. The man finally turned his attention to me. His eyes were the color of dark coffee, and they scanned me with a chilling, analytical intensity. He took in my face, my dress, my bare feet in worn sandals.
“Fiona Steel,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You look… different.”
I held his gaze, my chin held high. I wouldn't show weakness. Not to him. Not to anyone.
He pushed off the car and walked toward me, his movements fluid, like a panther. He stopped a few feet away, his presence a palpable force.
“My sources told me you were a mess,” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “A pathetic addict who lost her nerve. But I don’t see that. I see fire.”
He tilted his head. “But no voice to go with it. Is that right? You can’t speak.”
I gave a single, sharp nod.
“A pity,” he mused, though he didn't look sorry at all. “It makes this conversation terribly one sided.”
He took another step, closing the distance between us. I could smell his cologne, a subtle, expensive scent of leather and spice.
“Those men were amateurs. They were collecting on a gambling debt. The debt you owe me is far more significant.”
My mind raced. What had this woman done? Who was I now?
“You stole from me, Ms. Steel,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “A data chip. You sold it to a rival. It was a foolish, desperate move, and it cost me a great deal of money.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I was the one who sent you on that job. I was the one who trusted you. And you betrayed me.”
So that was it. The real Fiona was a corporate thief. A pawn in a game far above her skill level.
“Normally, this would be the part where my associates take you for a long drive and you are never seen again,” he said calmly. “I do not tolerate betrayal.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my expression remained unchanged.
He seemed intrigued by my lack of fear. A flicker of something, maybe respect, maybe curiosity, crossed his face.
“But I am a businessman above all else. And I dislike losing an asset. Even a damaged one.”
He reached out, his fingers gently touching my chin, tilting my face up to the light. His touch was cold, a stark contrast to the fire his presence ignited.
“So I’m going to give you a choice. One you do not deserve.”
His dark eyes bored into mine, holding me captive.
“You can work off your debt to me. Every last cent. You will do exactly as I say, when I say it. You will become my property until I deem the balance settled.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, the words a death sentence and a lifeline all at once.
“Or, you can die. Right here, in this alley. No one will find you this time. I will make sure of it.”
He let go of my chin, his gaze unwavering.
“The choice is yours, Fiona.”
