Chapter 4: The Bully
Sarah's POV
I swallow hard, clenching the folder in my hands as if it were the sole thing that was between me and the ground in this world.
"I need time," I whisper.
Lucian shifts back slowly in his chair, interlacing his arms and studying me with his icy calculating eye. No smile. No laughter. Only the silent, bone-chilling voice of superiority.
"Time," he repeats, rolling the word on his tongue.
I look up at him, replenishing my energy. "To think. To see this. You can't just palm a contract off on me and hope to get rid of it and of you —" I tremble but still don't look away. "I must think."
A thick silence wrapped around us like hoarfrost. He didn't respond initially. Rather, he leaned back slowly and deliberately in his office chair, moving a little closer to me.
I struggle not to take a step back.
He inches up to my face.
His scent—whiskey, power, something nefarious—is wrapping around me. I hate how my heart starts to pound, betraying me.
"Fine," he spoke slowly and gently in a menacing manner. "You can think about it."
I let out a trembling breath. So relieved!
And then—
His fingers lifted my chin so that I couldn't turn my head aside.
"But tell me this first." His voice nearly dropped, "Did you come into my office today to work? Or just accuse me?"
Shit.
I am emotionally stranded. Lucian may have brought me to my knees, but, he is my boss. And I had stormed into his office, slapped a contract onto his desk, and accused him of ruining my life.
"No, I—I have to take my dad to the hospital."
His expression didn't change; however, something flashed behind his eyes.
"Hospital?" His tone was even.
I clutched the folder tightly. "They beat him, Lucian." The words flew out before I could suppress them. "He's bruised from head to foot. He needs to be examined by a doctor."
He stood stock-still for what felt like forever, regarding me.
Then he stepped back.
"If that's how it is, you should go, then."
I did not think. I turned and ran away, not even a second spent noticing the searing glare I knew was still focused on me.
When I get home, my dad remains sitting on the couch, grunting in agony. I hate that he's smaller. Weakness.
"Come on," I whisper beside him, sitting down.
"Let me drive you to the hospital."
He is wheezing and shaking his head from side to side. I'm holding him up on his feet, grasping mostly his bulk, and helping him towards the door. Each step he makes is agonizingly slow, and I feel sick.
Not a word was said on the ride to the hospital. Just the sound of my dad's labored breathing and my terrified thoughts. A nurse comes rushing up to greet us with a wheelchair when we arrive.
They wheel him away and I sit fuming in the waiting room, poised to just collapse. Too much. The contract. My beating. Lucian.
And then I heard my phone ringing.
I looked down. Brielle.
My first warmth in my chest today. My best friend. My one sane thing.
I pressed enter.
"Sarah," Brielle said, concern edging her voice. "Where are you?"
I breathed out and ran my fingers through my hair. "Hospital."
There was a pause. And then—"Shit. Are you all right?"
"It's my dad," I tell her. "I'll tell you later."
A silence. Then her voice softened. "Let's go out tonight."
I blink. "Bri, I don't think—"
"Just to talk." She sighed. "You need to clear your head for a little bit. I know you. If you're in the house, you'll drive yourself nuts wondering about—everything."
She may be right.
But still.
"I don't know, Bri. The last time I was at a bar…. My throat tightens. That night. The agreement. Lucian. It all started at a bar.
Brielle senses my uncertainty because she speaks again, this time quietly. "It's another bar. I promise. One drink, okay? We talk, and if you'd rather go home, we leave."
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing deeply.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I do need a distraction.
"Okay."
"Good," I can hear her smile. "I'm sending you the address. See you tonight."
The bar is cozy; subdued conversation and music provide a muted hum. Not rowdy, not boisterous.
I take regular breaths, gripping my purse as I approach. Brielle is already in a little booth and is waving for me to join her.
As soon as I sit down, she looks directly at me.
"You look dead tired," she told me, tugging on her lips, thinning her face.
I chuckle raucously. "And so I should."
She gestures towards the drink with the order pad. "You're gonna need a drink."
I nod mutely. A drink was exactly what was called for to deaden everything.
The bartender sets two glasses down in front of us, and Brielle steps forward. "For goodness' sake, come on, tell me, what in the name of all things holy is going on?"
I pause.
I do trust Brielle. I do. But where in the world do I even begin to tell the story with her?
"I got blacklisted," I start, playing with the drink in front of me.
Her eyes widened. "What?!"
I nod. "Lucian Dante."
Her jaw tightened. "That jerk."
I laugh, a cold, humorless sound. "Yeah. That asshole."
She edges in closer to me. "And?"
I consider my words before responding. "And now he is the one proposing that I marry him."
The glass had appeared to hover in Brielle's hand. "I'm sorry. What?"
"Not of my own accord," I added hastily. "It's. It's complicated. My dad owes money. A lot of money. And paying him back is part of it is me."
Brielle's lips were agape. Then they snapped shut again. "Sarah."
"I know," I whisper.
Before she could complain, another voice, icy and derisive, interrupted our talk.
"Well, Well."
My blood turns to ice in my veins.
That voice.
The voice I hadn't heard in years.
My hands clenched harder around my glass as I spun, bracing my body.
And there she is.
Tall. Stunning. With an aura of victory.
And the wife of a Mafia Boss.
Slowly, her lips curved into a sadistic smile.
"Sarah Whitmore."
My blood turned ice-cold.
For comparison's sake, there was no restraining Brielle as she spun towards me. "No way," she says.
I swallowed hard, putting down my glass. "Jessica."