CHAPTER TWO

EMMA’S POV

“You can't lock me in here. I know my rights.” I yelled when the hefty man I had gotten to know as ‘Scar’ pushed me into a room after dragging me up to a mansion I didn't even want to be in. 

He said nothing, even when I kicked him and hit him as he attempted to tie me against the king-sized bed. The atmosphere in the house was as cold as the owner's heart. He walked out of the room, and I heard the lock click.

“Help!!! Somebody help me!” I yelled over and over again, tears damping my cheeks. “I know my right!” My voice cracked.

Yet I got no response—nothing except the clock's ticking sound. I knew I was doomed for him to live in a mansion far away from prying eyes—one with a massive compound that could house two more mansions. My mind drifted to my mother, and my heart squeezed in pain. It was almost evening when I would check up on her at the hospital and remit whatever I had made from the day to them. She would be worried by now, and the doctor had said it would worsen her chronic lung disease (IPF). I couldn’t let her die. She was all I had. 

I screamed as I burst into another round of tears. Life had never given it to me easy. Sometimes, I wondered if it hated my existence. My head was banging now, and I could feel the spirit of helplessness seeping in. 

‘I’m sorry, Mom. I couldn’t save you.’ I muttered weakly, giving in to my ill fate.

I don’t know when I dozed off, but I could tell he was staring hard at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me none of your father’s staff knows you?” He looked annoyed, and his lips were flattened.

I breathed with the urge to scratch off his face, gawking at me.

“You didn't ask.” 

His nose flared. “And you didn't think to say?” 

I rolled my eyes. Tired of fighting so hard. “I don't remember you giving me the chance to.” I snarled, and he grabbed me by the chin, his fingers pressing hard against my teeth.

“The next time you talk to me that way. You would be a dead man.” He looked deadpanned and serious, and my heart raced. “Understood?” His brows arched, and I nodded, looking away. “Use your words!”

“Yes..sir..” I trembled.

He let go of my face and paced up and down the room. His expressionless mask slipped away until he stopped.

“The tracker on you, where is it?” 

The question was sudden, and I found myself staring. I lied. He would find out I lied and have a good reason to kill me. But fortunately, before I could say a word, one of his men ran in.

“Her phone wouldn't stop ringing, boss.” 

The devil grunted, clenching his teeth. “Use your head, Gavio. Break the goddamn thing or burn it, I do not care.” 

Gavio trembled, and just then, it rang again. The Doctor was calling. I used an iPhone XR to tell you.

Did something happen to my mother? Was she dead?

“Please let me pick up.” I summoned the courage and pleaded. “Please. My mother is ill, and she will die if I don’t….”

“Give it to her, but play games, and I won’t hesitate to kill you.” 

I was relieved.

“Is Mother fine?” I asked. I knew that was far from possible. Mother had been ill for years, ever since I was eighteen. What had started as a manageable autoimmune disorder had morphed into Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. The mother dismissed the joint swelling, loss of appetite, and fatigue as signs of her stressful job as a nanny. Dad had left us when I was twelve, and we moved from one street to another, finding places to sleep and surviving on leftovers while Father gallivanting around with his wife, the daughter of a powerful politician. 

I wanted to sue them, but Mother said I couldn't because we were nothing too powerful like them, and we would only get crushed under the weight. I was twenty-five now and understood what she meant more than anything. This devil here was a typical example.

The phone was on speaker and was placed in front of me.

“Your Mother wouldn't stop screaming your name. Her condition worsened. I’m afraid the painkillers can't do it anymore.” Doctor Harry informed. 

I froze. My heart sank, and I could envision her rolling and screaming in pain. Tears ran down my cheeks. He had been so supportive ever since she started treatment there. Paying for some at times while I paid back in bits, but there was little he could do as he had a life, too. The hospital had threatened to sack him most times, yet he stood unwavering, saying I reminded him of himself when his mother was ill and died because he couldn't afford it. He became a doctor to save lives, yet he couldn't do it for free.

Maybe I would have been one if I didn't have to drop out of high school when we could no longer afford it, plus no other school wanted to take me in. They said they didn't want to face my father's wrath.

"We have been through so much, Universe. Too much for two people.’ My hot tears rolled down.

“How much?” My voice trembled, waiting for the bomb I had feared would drop someday. Just not this early. I only saved two thousand dollars from working four jobs daily. The restaurant, the delivery company, the bar, and the hotel. Most of it was from being tipped by customers. Luckily, people had forgotten whose child I was. Dying my hair and using new names did the job. 

“We need a hundred thousand dollars for a start, Miss Emma. I’m afraid the hospital has given all the help it can.” 

My arms dropped, and I stared into the space. I heard her scream in the back, snatched the phone, and hung up before I could respond.

“Why did you do that?” I yelled, sobbing.