VERA

(Content Warning

This chapter contains depictions of sexual assault and psychological abuse. These scenes may be triggering or distressing for some readers. I tried to write it in the best way I can without detracting from the plot or minimizing caution. Please proceed with caution and prioritize your well-being.)

The bell above the café door jingled, a sound that usually felt like home. Today, it was a taunt. The rich, earthy smell of coffee grounds, which normally centered me, now churned my empty stomach. Mrs. Thompson looked up from the counter, and the immediate worry that etched itself onto her face was a punch to the gut.

“Vera, honey.” She set down the mug she was polishing, her eyes scanning me up and down. “I was just about to call. Are you alright?”

“I’m so sorry about yesterday, Mrs. T,” I mumbled, my gaze fixed on the familiar scuffs on the tile floor. I couldn’t meet her eyes. “I meant to come in, I just… something came up.”

“Oh, pish-posh, don’t you worry about that for a second.” She came around the counter, her warm, capable hand closing around my icy arm. “Lord, you’re shaking. Did you… did you go see that woman?” Her voice dropped to a hushed, serious tone. “Your stepmother?”

I didn’t have to answer. The dam broke. A ragged, ugly sob tore from my throat as I slumped forward, my face collapsing into my palms. The humiliation of kneeling on the cold stone, of Eleanor’s mocking laughter, crashed over me anew.

“Oh, baby girl.” Mrs. Thompson pulled me into a hug, her sturdy frame and the scent of cinnamon and clean laundry a fleeting sanctuary. I cried into her shoulder, my body wracked with the force of it. When the storm passed to shaky breaths, I told her. I told her about the kneel, the begging, the utter void where a mother’s compassion should have been.

Her body went rigid against mine. She pulled back, her kind eyes sharpening into points of pure fury. Her jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked. “That witch,” she hissed, the words laced with a venom I’d never heard from her. “That cold-hearted, miserable witch.”

“It’s fine,” I whispered, wiping my nose with a trembling hand, trying to reassemble the shattered pieces of my composure. “I’ll be fine. I have another… option.”

She looked at me, and the understanding that dawned in her eyes was almost as painful as the betrayal. She knew exactly who that option was. Her face fell, a mask of dread. “Vera, no. Don’t you go to that boy. Not after how he treated you. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I don’t have a choice!” The words shot out, sharp and desperate. I took a gulping breath. “It’s for Jett. It’s all for Jett.”

I pulled away from her comforting grasp before it could weaken my resolve. “I have to go. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and fled, the bell’s cheerful jingle a final mockery. The cold air bit into my wet cheeks, a harsh slap of reality. Her warning echoed, but it was drowned out by the twenty-thousand-dollar scream inside my head.

The walk to Brett’s apartment was a death march. Three days of silence. Three days since he’d thrown me out of his car and left me sobbing on a curb. Where was the man who’d whispered he loved me under the bleachers? A fiction, I realized. A carefully constructed lie to ensnare me.

His building was a monument to new money, all glass and steel. I buzzed. The lock released with a harsh buzz that vibrated up my arm.

He was waiting in the doorway, looking disheveled in a way that was still infuriatingly attractive. His white tee was tight across his chest, his sweatpants hanging low. But his green eyes held no warmth, only a cold, calculating curiosity.

“Vera,” he said, not moving to let me in. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I see my boyfriend?” I tried to sound casual, but it came out a plea.

He paused, his eyes doing a slow, dismissive sweep of my body before he finally stepped aside. “Make it quick. I’m busy.”

His apartment was a showroom. Sterile, minimalist, every object positioned with military precision. It was the lair of a control freak, a stark contrast to the emotional wreckage he delighted in creating.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Brett, it’s Jett. He needs surgery. The deposit… it’s twenty thousand dollars. I wouldn’t ask if—”

He cut me off with a short, brutal laugh. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. After the little performance you threw at my bar? After you made me look like a chump in front of my friends? You have the audacity to come here and ask me for money?”

“Please, Brett.” The begging was automatic now, a skill I’d perfected. “I’m on my knees here. I’ll do anything. I’ll work it off, I’ll—”

He stopped and turned, the predatory glint in his eyes sharpening. “Anything?”

The air grew cold. I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

A slow, vile smile spread across his face. “Okay. Prove it. Take your clothes off.”

The command hung in the sterile air, sucking all the oxygen from the room. I stood frozen, my mind screaming.

“You said anything,” he reminded me,his voice flat and cold. “Or are you just a liar on top of being a tease? Besides it's not like I haven't already seen what's there. ”

For Jett. It’s for Jett. The mantra was a drumbeat in my skull. My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of my shirt. I pulled it over my head, let it fall to the floor. Then my jeans, fumbling with the button, until I stood shivering in my simple cotton bra and underwear under the unforgiving glare of his track lighting.

He didn’t touch me. He just pulled out his phone, the sleek black object looking like a weapon. “See? With a body like this, you could be making real money. Not that chump change you earn on your feet all day.” He raised the phone. The camera lens was a black, unblinking eye. “Smile for the camera, V.”

“No… Brett, don’t,” I pleaded, panic clawing at my chest. I crossed my arms over myself.

“I can, and I will,” he said, his voice chillingly calm. “I’ve got friends with very specific tastes. They’d pay a lot for nudes of a girl like you. Or should I call the hospital and tell them you can’t pay?”

The world tilted on its axis. This was the real price. My body, my privacy, my dignity. They were all just currency to him. Hot tears of shame streamed down my face as the flash exploded, over and over, capturing my degradation from every angle. The click of the shutter was the sound of my soul being fractured.

Then, his voice dropped, thick with a dark arousal. “Now. Get on the bed.”

What happened next was a blur of force and violation. His hands were not gentle; they were possessive, bruising. He pushed me down onto the cold, expensive sheets, his weight pinning me. There was no pretense of intimacy, only a brutal taking. He grunted into my ear, his words a foul litany—You’re so fucking hot, this is all you’re good for, you know you want it. I turned my face away, staring at a blank spot on the wall, disassociating, trying to float away from the reality of his thrusts, the smell of his cologne mixed with sweat, the sheer, overwhelming wrongness of it all. I was a vessel, an object. He was claiming what he believed he’d already bought.

When he finished with a final, grating groan, he rolled off me without a word. He walked to the bathroom, and I heard the shower start. As if he could wash me away that easily.

I lay there for a moment, feeling the cold seep into my skin where his sweat had been. Then I stumbled to my feet, grabbing my clothes. I didn’t bother putting them on. I fled into the hallway bathroom, locking the door. I slid down against it, the cold tile a shock against my bare skin. Silent, violent sobs shook my body. I felt eviscerated, hollowed out and filled with filth.

I needed an anchor. A voice of reason. Sasha. I had to ask her if I was insane, if this was the price of love.

I fumbled for my jeans, my fingers closing around cold, hard glass. Not my phone. Brett’s. He must have left it on the sink. The screen lit up with a notification.

My heart stalled. Maybe it was about the transfer he made to my phone? With a trembling thumb, I tapped the screen. It opened directly to his messages.

And I gasped.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering on the tile. The screen glowed, illuminating a truth so profound and vicious it made everything that had just happened feel like a prelude.