Chapter 5 Desperate Call

Cherry POV

I storm out of the gala.

Father brought me here to parade me, to finalize the engagement arrangements, and I just... ran. The weight of my defiance presses down on me, heavier than the gown clinging to my frame. I know I've just dug a deeper hole for myself, but I couldn't stand another second under the suffocating pretense of it all.

Outside, the cool night air bites at my skin, but it can't numb the ache inside. I find a secluded corner near the venue's glass façade, my reflection staring back at me—pale as a ghost, eyes red and swollen from silent tears.

I look like a broken doll, and maybe that's exactly what I am. Why does Mom endure this life? Why has she stayed, year after year, while Father shamelessly flaunts Sharon in front of everyone? Is it because of me?

It must be. I clench my fists, hating how powerless I am. If I refuse this marriage to Vincent, Mom will suffer the most. Father will cut me off in a heartbeat. I'll be finished, and so will she. We're trapped in this gilded cage, wings clipped, forced to smile through the bars. My stomach churns with the bitter truth: I have no choice but to play along.

I linger outside for hours, delaying the inevitable. Going home early means facing questions, excuses, and lies. I'm not ready for that. The night stretches on, endless and cold, until my phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number: [Are you alright?]

Spam, I decide, and block the number. I shove the phone back into my purse and start the slow trek home.

I barely step through the door before Grandma Mary's voice slices through the silence. "Where have you been, Cherry? How dare you leave an important event like that without permission?"

My heart sinks as I see Father already standing there in the dimly lit foyer. I've lingered outside far too long.

"Do you have any idea," Father spits, "how you embarrassed me in front of Nicholas with your insolence?"

Mary’s hand grips a wooden spoon, and she brings it down hard across the back of my legs, the sting searing through my dress. “Ungrateful child!” she hisses, her voice dripping with contempt.

Father steps closer, grabs my arm with a bruising grip, and shoves me toward the staircase. He raises his hand, landing a harsh blow on my thigh with a closed fist. "You'll learn respect, even if I have to beat it into you! We can't mark what they'll see, but you'll feel this lesson!"

Mom rushes forward, her frail frame trembling as she tries to shield me, but Father pushes her aside with a snarl. She stumbles, catching herself against the wall, and I see the helplessness in her eyes.

The voices overlap, a cacophony of anger and blame, until the air itself feels like it's suffocating me. I'm on the verge of crumbling when a sudden screech of tires outside halts everything. Before anyone can react, the front door bursts open with a deafening crash. Armed men pour in, their boots thudding against the hardwood, faces obscured by shadows and menace.

A hulking figure steps forward, his presence dominating the room. "Arthur," he growls. "You owe me five million dollars. Overdue by three months. Time's up."

Father's bravado vanishes in an instant, replaced by a pathetic stammer. "Macro, please, you know I've had cash flow issues. Just give me a little more time—"

Macro doesn't let him finish. With a flick of his wrist, his men descend on Father, fists flying. The sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the air, punctuated by Father's grunts of pain. Mary screams, and I stand frozen, horror rooting me to the spot as they start smashing everything in sight: vases, mirrors, and the family portraits—well, if there is a family—lining the walls.

Mom reacts faster than I do. She grabs my wrist, yanking me toward the stairs. "Cherry, go back to your room!" she whispers urgently, shoving me into my bedroom and slamming the door shut. I hear the lock click, her trembling voice on the other side. "Stay there, no matter what!"

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I press my ear to the door, every sound amplified through the thin wood. Downstairs, the violence escalates—screams, thuds, and the crack of bone. Macro's voice rises above it all, cold and merciless. "If you don't have my money, Miller, I'll take your pretty little daughter instead. She can work off your debt in ways you can't."

Work off the debt? I know what he means, and the thought makes my skin crawl. My hands shake as I fumble through my desk drawer, then the trash bin, searching for the torn pieces of Nick's business card. I'd ripped it up in a fit of anger, but now it's my only lifeline.

My fingers tremble as I piece the scraps together, but the last few digits are missing, smudged beyond recognition. Then it hits me—the unknown number from earlier. I pull out my phone, comparing it to the fragmented card. It's close. Too close to be a coincidence. Could it really be him?

I don't have time to overthink it. With a shaky breath, I unblock the number and dial, praying I'm not wrong. The line connects, and a familiar, teasing voice drawls through the speaker. "Took you long enough, niece."

"Uncle Nick?" My voice breaks, tears streaming down my face. "You say I can call you when I have any problems..."

I don't care about his tone or how he got my number. All I can manage is a choked sob as I spill everything—the intruders, the debt, and the threat to take me away. I rattle off our address, pleading, "They're going to take me. I know you have money, please, help us!"

His playful edge vanishes, replaced by something cold, dangerous. "I'm coming. Hold on." The line clicks dead, and I'm left clutching the phone as dread pools in my stomach.

Before I can process the relief, a loud bang reverberates through the room. The door splinters inward, and Macro looms in the doorway, his sneer twisting into something predatory. "Thought you could hide, huh?"

I back away, my voice trembling but defiant. "I've called someone. He's coming with the money. You'll get paid, just leave us alone!"

He laughs, a hollow, chilling sound, and gestures to his men. "We'll see about that." Rough hands seize my arms, dragging me toward the hallway. I struggle, kicking and screaming, but it's useless.

As they pull me down the stairs, I glimpse Mom slumped against the wall in the living room, unconscious, a trickle of blood on her temple. Nearby, Father and Grandma are on the floor, battered and groaning under the boots of Macro's crew.

Despair crashes over me like a tidal wave. I'm out of options, out of time. All I can do is pray that Nick meant what he said—that he'll come and save me...