4 ~ Feels Like Justice

The air was heavy as I walked up the cobblestone driveway to my childhood home—a house that once symbolized warmth, love, and laughter. Now, it stood as a hollow reminder of my father’s failings and my mother’s absence.

The paint was peeling, the lawn overgrown, and the windows resembled dull eyes staring out at nothing. My grip tightened around the leather strap of my bag, the weight of its contents grounding me.

As I approached the door, memories flooded back: Mom tending to her garden, her laugh spilling out like sunlight; Dad before he became a shadow of himself, playing catch with me in the yard. Those moments felt like a lifetime ago.

I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the rusted bell. Memories flooded back. I remembered my father's icy sneer. My stepmother’s shrill, annoying voice. My mother’s quiet cries in the dead of night as she begged for another chance to prove herself. It all came rushing back like a slap to the face. Shaking off the nostalgia, I rang the bell.

A few beats later, the door creaked open. My stepmother stood there, dressed in an overly bright robe, her face stretched into a scowl. "Selene. Finally graced us with your presence, have you?"

"Nice to see you too, Marianne," I replied evenly, stepping past her without waiting for an invitation.

A few moments later, my father emerged from his study, reeking of whiskey and cheap cologne. His eyes, bloodshot and calculating, scanned me from head to toe. "So, you finally decided to show up. Tell me, did you use that pretty little body of yours wisely? Or was the old bastard too much for you to handle?"

"Actually," I said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes, "I didn’t go."

His eyes narrowed. "You what?"

"I couldn’t degrade myself like that," I cut him off, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "But don’t worry, Father. I’ve found another way to fix YOUR MESS."

His expression darkened, and Marianne let out a dramatic gasp behind me. "What do you mean you didn’t go? Do you have any idea how much your father and I—"

I cut her off by tossing a heavy duffel bag onto the worn-out flooring. It burst open on impact, spilling wads of cash onto the surface.

The room fell silent.

My father—Charles lunged for the money, his hands trembling as he rifled through the stacks.

"Where did you get this?" He demanded, his voice tinged with greed.

Marianne was quicker. She snatched a few bills, stuffing them into her robe. “You stole this, didn’t you? Or worse... You’ve been spreading your legs at that bar of yours for men like your mother used to!”

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to snap. “I borrowed it from a firm my boss introduced me to. It’s enough to pay off the debt and save the house."

Charles looked up sharply. "Borrowed? Don’t lie to me, girl. No one lends this kind of money without strings attached."

“Believe what you want,” I said coldly. “There’s one condition: you sign this contract and agree to a meeting with their lawyer tomorrow for the rest of the details. Signing transfers ownership of the house to the company that will settle all debts you’ve incurred. Once the deal is finalized, you’ll get the second half of the payment."

I pulled out a sleek black folder and handed it to him. He opened it, scanning the contents with furrowed brows.

Marianne peered over his shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “And who does this company belong to?"

“That’s not your concern until tomorrow,” I replied, my tone sharp. “Sign it, or I walk out of here with the rest of the money. Oh, and there’s a penalty clause. If you try to use the house as collateral again or default on the agreement, you’ll be in breach of contract. The consequences won’t be pretty, Father."

Charles hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and the cash. Finally, greed won. He grabbed a pen from the table and scrawled his signature across the dotted line.

"Smart choice," I said, tossing the second duffel bag at his feet.

My stepmother glared at me, her lips curling into a sneer. "You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Just because you saved this house doesn’t mean you’ve won. You’ve practically handed it over to strangers. How does it feel, Selene, knowing your mother’s house is no longer yours?"

Her words hit their mark, but I refused to let her see it. Instead, I smiled sweetly. "It feels like justice," I said.

Before she could respond, my father stepped in, his tone suddenly warm and paternal. "You’ve done well, Selene. But there’s still a way to make this right. There’s a billionaire’s son—James Cartwright. He’s looking for a wife. Marry him, and we can buy back the house from this company."

I laughed bitterly. "James Cartwright? The drug addict, playboy, and womanizer? You’d sell me off to someone worse than your old rich friend—Rothschild?"

"It’s for the family, Selene," Charles insisted, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Think about it. You could have your mother’s house back."

Marianne added, "Don’t be so dramatic. For one thing, he's not an old bastard; he's rich and handsome. Men like him just need a pretty face to keep them in line. You could handle that with a touch of makeup or two on that pitiful face of yours, couldn’t you?"

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "You know what? I’ll think about it. But for now, I need to get back to work. Someone has to earn an honest living around here."

Charles smiled, pulling me into a stiff hug. "That’s my girl. Come back soon, and we’ll discuss the details."

I forced myself to return the hug, though it took every ounce of restraint not to shove him away. "Of course, Father. Anything for the family."

As I walked out the door, I could feel their eyes boring into my back, likely plotting their next move. Once I was out of sight, I ducked into a side street, my heart pounding.

Turning the corner, I spotted the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

The tinted window rolled down, revealing Raphael’s sharp, handsome face. "How’d it go, little rabbit?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I slid into the passenger seat, closing the door with a sense of finality. "It’s all falling into place," I said, buckling my seatbelt. "They took the bait. Now, we wait."

Raphael smirked, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "Good. Let’s see how long it takes for them to realize the game they’re playing."