Family Debt
The taxi ride home was quiet, but Elena's mind was anything but. The folder sat on her lap like a silent bomb, its edges slightly curled from her tight grip. The city passed in a blur of color and motion, but all she could hear was Alexander Knight's voice echoing through her head.
"I need a wife."
The words wouldn't leave her.
By the time she reached her neighborhood, the clouds had thickened again, casting a dull gray over the worn apartment buildings. She climbed the steps to her unit, balancing her purse and the contract folder. Her keys jangled as she pushed them into the lock. As soon as the door creaked open, she stopped cold.
Two figures sat stiffly on her second-hand couch.
"Uncle Roy?" she said in confusion. "Aunt Linda? What are you doing here?"
The atmosphere in the room was heavy, suffocating. Her uncle stood up slowly, all six feet of him, wearing the same scuffed boots and patched jacket she remembered from every awkward holiday gathering.
"We need to talk," he said, voice low and tight.
Elena blinked. "Okay... Is everything alright?"
"No," Aunt Linda said, arms folded. "And it's about your father."
Her stomach dropped. She set the folder on the side table and stepped into the room. "What happened? Is he okay?"
"He's fine," Roy muttered. "For now. But we're not."
"I don't understand."
Her aunt stood, eyes sharp beneath her heavy mascara. "You know how things have been since your father's company collapsed."
"Yes," Elena said carefully.
"We invested in Carter Holdings," her uncle snapped. "All our savings. Your father promised us it was a safe bet. And look what happened."
Elena's heart thudded in her chest. "I didn't know that."
"We kept it quiet," Aunt Linda said. "We believed your father would fix things. But it's been two years, and now we're the ones paying the price."
"What price?"
Roy looked away. "I've got debts, Elena. Debts with people who don't exactly send friendly reminders."
Elena's breath caught. "What kind of debts?"
"Gambling," Linda said flatly.
Elena's hands clenched. "Again?"
Roy's head snapped toward her. "Don't take that tone with me. I made a mistake. But your father made a bigger one. And now you two need to fix it."
"We don't have anything," Elena said, exasperated. "We're barely holding it together."
"Well, you better start figuring it out," Roy growled. "Because the men I owe are done waiting."
"Roy," Linda said quietly. "Tell her the rest."
He grunted. "They're coming to collect. I told them I'd get the money. That's why we're here."
"How much?" Elena whispered.
He named a figure. It felt like the floor fell out from under her.
"You think I have that kind of money?"
"You work," he snapped. "You must have some savings."
"I pay rent, bills, and buy groceries for my dad," she said. "What savings?"
Linda stepped forward. "Then borrow it. Or ask someone rich—someone you design jewelry for."
Elena stared at her aunt, stunned. "You think I can just walk up to a client and ask for thousands of dollars?"
"Do whatever you have to," Roy said. "Because if you don't, they'll come here. Or worse, they'll go to your father."
A chill ran down her spine.
"You're threatening us," she said quietly.
"No," Roy said. "They are. And they don't care who gets hurt."
The silence that followed was thick with tension.
Elena pressed her fingers to her temples. "I don't have that kind of money. I don't have anyone to ask. And if they touch my father—"
"They will," Roy interrupted. "If you don't fix this."
Her voice broke. "I can't fix everything."
"Well, you better start trying," Linda said. "Because we've run out of time."
Without another word, they turned and left, slamming the door behind them.
Elena stood in the silence, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
The folder on the table stared up at her, mocking her. One year of her life for her father's company. For stability. For maybe a chance to protect him from men like the ones Roy had described.
She didn't want to be Alexander Knight's wife.
But she couldn't watch her father be dragged into danger either.
After a few moments, she pushed the contract aside and headed to her tiny bedroom. She pulled off her coat, changed into her work blouse and slacks, and tied her hair into a quick ponytail. Her shift started in an hour.
She paused before the cracked mirror above her dresser.
"You're fine," she whispered to herself. "Just get through today."
It was a lie, but it was the best she had.
—
The tram ride to the design studio was uneventful, though her thoughts never stopped racing. She stared out the window, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag. The city seemed bigger today, colder. It didn't care about her problems, her decisions, or her broken family.
Her workplace, Sutton & Rose Jewelry, was tucked between a florist and a boutique near downtown. It was a modest company, but its designs were elegant, often requested by elite clients who wanted custom pieces for engagements or anniversaries.
Elena had started working there three years ago as an intern. Now she was one of their youngest designers, with a desk near the back and a small drawer filled with unfinished sketches and samples.
"Morning, Elena!" called Melissa, the receptionist, as she walked in.
Elena forced a smile. "Morning."
"You okay? You look a little pale."
"Just didn't sleep well."
"Let me guess—another all-nighter with gemstones and coffee?"
Elena laughed softly. "Something like that."
She slipped past the front area and into the design wing, where soft jazz played and the scent of polish and metal filled the air. Her desk was right where she'd left it: cluttered but functional.
She sat and opened her sketchbook, but her hands shook as she tried to hold the pencil.
Her mind wouldn't stop replaying her uncle's voice. They're coming to collect.
She tried to drown it out with work. She adjusted a sapphire layout, recalibrated the size of a diamond inset, and added a delicate twist to the band of a wedding ring sketch. Her designs usually brought her peace, a sense of control. Today they just reminded her of the illusion of safety—pretty things for people who'd never know what it meant to struggle.
"Elena?"
She looked up. Her boss, Mr. Sutton, stood beside her, holding a client file.
"Yes?"
"We've got a client interested in a custom bracelet—high budget. I want you to take this one."
She took the file, her hands still trembling. "I'll get on it."
He gave her a curious look but said nothing more before walking away.
She stared down at the brief: a celebrity looking for a 20th-anniversary gift. Money wasn't an issue.
Elena sighed and turned to a new page in her sketchbook. She needed this. She needed to hold on. Just for today.
But deep down, she knew her choices were shrinking.
And that folder—the one she'd nearly tossed in the trash—might be the only lifeline she had left.