“Don’t be so quick to turn me down, my dear. You haven’t even heard my offer yet.” He straightened his tie and seemed to gather himself, as I’d seen him do countless times before political rallies and public appearances on television. This was it — he was gearing up before the big pitch. I tried the door handle again, but it was useless.
“You and I both know you aren’t meant to be with my son. He’s destined for greatness. You are destined for…” His gaze scanned up and down my body, lingering on my chest. “A different life. One with a nice farm boy, perhaps, in a double wide somewhere out in the country. You’ll pop out a few babies, eat Hamburger Helper for dinner, maybe even make your way to the polls to vote for a politician like me who promises to reallychangethings for you.” His eyes were empty of feeling. I didn’t bother to answer, afraid to show how much his scathing words mirrored my deepest fears.
“But my son — he could be great. A congressman, a senator. Even the President someday. And you, my dear, are poised to ruin all of that.” A flicker of annoyance flashed on his face, but was quickly smoothed away into a clear expression meant, no doubt, to persuade me. “You love him, that much is obvious. Don’t you want what’s best for him? Don’t you want him to have that future? Because, if you do, we both know you have to let him go. To Princeton, to Washington, to the successful life he’s meant to live — without you.”
I took a steadying breath. “Sebastian is an adult. I think he’s old enough to decide what he wants in his future. If that doesn’t include you, or your plans, well — I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. You’re just going to have to let him make his own choices. It’s not my place, or yours, to decide a damn thing for him.”
His grin widened in response to the challenge my words had presented. “Even if it meant you could pay off your family’s debt? Even if it meant James would have the best care?” He paused to guarantee that his words would have the ultimate impact. “How much is your brother’s life worth, Lux? Is one, short-lived, high school romance that, in all likelihood, won’t even last, worth your brother dying before he turns twenty?Face it – men like my son might fuck girls like you, but they certainly don’t marry them.”
I pressed my eyes closed. As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I wished it weren’t true, his words had their intended effect. They rattled around my mind like loose marbles in a jar, jumbling everything I thought I knew — turning immovable morals and ethical codes into adjustable, ever-shifting margins. I had to consider his offer. The stakes were too high to disregard it without a thought.
Money could change things for my family — for Jamie, especially. He could have the best treatment, at a state-of-the-art facility in the city rather than a small, regional hospital in Jackson County. He could afford to apply for a place in clinical trials and have a private nurse to help him with rehab for his leg. He’d have the best doctors, surgeons, and medical staff at his disposal. A custom-fitted prosthetic. A unique treatment plan specifically tailored for his condition. A house with more than four rooms — somewhere that he could walk and exercise his atrophied muscles until his strength was fully recovered.
But could I give up the love of my life? My heart began to tear at just the thought.
“I can’t,” I whispered, seeing the beautiful future I’d painted for Jamie in my mind dissipate and fade to black. “I won’t.”
I’d find another way to give Jamie that life — this bribe wasn’t the right path for us. No one made a deal with a devil and walked away wholly unscathed.
“Tough girl.” Andrew chuckled, his Cheshire Cat smile only widening. “I thought you might say that. Thankfully, the first rule of political negotiation…” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another thin envelope. “Never put all your cards on the table in the first round, dear.”
He slid a thick, off-white document from the package, his fingers tracing the county clerk’s green stamp by the signature line with reverence.
“This, my dear, is a very special piece of paper. Do you see what it says here?” His index finger pointed to a line at the top of the sheet.
Deed of Sale
When I saw the property address and the name Andrew Covington listed as the new lot owner, I knew, with absolute clarity, that he’d backed me neatly into a corner. I’d been outmanned, outplayed — he held all the cards in this game, and I’d never even had a shot at beating him. There was the date of sale, in clear black and white — signed and stamped last week, by officials at the bank. My home, in the hands of a monster. My life, my family’s life, at his mercy.
“This is the deed to your house, dear.” Andrew turned fully in his seat to face me. “So, you see, I’m not just holding a document — I’m holding your fate in my hands. I thoughtyou might need a little extraincentiveto see things my way.”
I swallowed roughly.
“What, no brave words? Where did all that honor and courage go?”
I bit my lip to contain my scream.
Andrew chuckled. “I’m really doing you a favor by teaching you this lesson early on in life. See, honor only gets you so far.” He leaned in closer and I shied as far away from him as possible in the confined space, my side pressed firmly against the cool glass of the window. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: people who fight with honor are the ones wholosetheir battles. The winners write the history books — and winners rarely let things like integrity get in their way, dear.”
I took a deep breath. “What do you want?” I forced the quiet words from my lips, feeling like the worst kind of traitor.
“There’s my good girl! I knew you’d come around,” he crowed, tasting victory. “Tell me, Lux… Do you know what a non-disclosure agreement is?”