Chapter 1 Twenty-Three Hours
They say Caius Michael is the kind of boss who'll make you cry in bathroom stalls during your lunch break.
They're not wrong.
I've worked for him for one year, eleven months, and sixteen days. Yes, I know the exact number. You don’t survive Caius Michael without counting the days like tally marks scratched into a prison wall. His standards aren’t high, they’re cruel. Deliberately unreachable. He doesn't want employees. He wants casualties. People broken down into perfect, obedient machines who jump when he snaps his fingers.
And for some godforsaken reason, I'm his favorite target.
But in twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes, none of that will matter.
Because tomorrow morning, at exactly 9:00 a.m., I will be sliding my resignation letter across his pristine desk and walking out of this glass-and-steel nightmare forever.
The thought makes me smile as I stir my afternoon coffee right there at my desk, letting the spoon clink against ceramic. Caius hates it when I drink coffee during office hours. Says it's 'unprofessional.'
But I'm already gone, aren't I? Mentally, I'm already at Hope Bridge Foundation's sunny office, helping families navigate medical nightmares.
"Ms. Sterling."
The spoon slips from my fingers, clattering against the desk.
I look up to find Caius standing in the doorway of the conference room, his hand still on the muted video call button.
"Yes, sir?" I set down my mug carefully.
"The sound of your spoon," his voice is fkat. "Is disrupting my call."
I want to laugh. I want to tell him that in twenty-three hours and fifteen minutes, he can fire me for breathing too loudly if he wants because I won't be here to care.
Instead, I smooth my face into that neutral mask I've perfected over the past two years.
"My apologies, sir."
His eyes narrow slightly, like he can sense something different in my tone. "Stay after hours tonight. I'll need those quarterly reports reformatted."
"Of course, sir."
He studies me for a long moment, then returns to his call.
The second he's gone, my phone buzzes.
MOM: How's my girl? Don't work too hard, sweetheart.
Guilt gnaws at me. She doesn't know. Doesn't know I've been secretly job hunting for six months. Doesn't know I finally got an offer. Doesn't know that starting next week, I'll have weekends again. Normal hours. A boss who sees me as a human being instead of a machine.
I type back with numb fingers: Never. Love you.
The afternoon drags. Every minute feels like ten. I keep glancing at the clock.
3:47... 4:23... 5:56...
When Caius finally releases me at 8:47 PM, three hours of reformatting documents that didn't need reformatting, I practically float out of my chair.
Last time. Last petty punishment. Last everything.
I grab my bag, my umbrella, and step outside into a wall of rain.
The weather report this morning called it the worst storm of the month. People were supposed to stay home if possible. But Caius doesn't believe in weather exceptions. He made all of us still come to work today.
I'm thirty feet from the building when I hear a voice.
"Mummy?"
I stop mid-step, one foot hovering over a puddle.
That wasn’t the rain. That was... a child.
Scanning the wet street, my eyes lock on a tiny, pitiful figure standing alone near the corner, right where the sidewalk dips into a draining gutter. He’s drenched completely, his hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes soaked through. He doesn’t even have a jacket, much less an umbrella.
"Oh my god," I breathe.
I rush over, shielding him under my umbrella. Up close, I see his lips are slightly blue. He’s shaking hard enough that his teeth must be rattling. He can't be more than four, maybe five years old.
Where are his parents? Where the hell are his parents?
"Hey, sweetheart!" I drop down in front of him, blocking the worst of the rain with my body. "Hey, baby, are you okay? Where's your mummy?"
He just stares at me with big, dark eyes.
Then he repeats softly.
"Mummy."
My chest tightens.
"Where did you come from?" I ask gently, my hands hovering over his shoulders, afraid to hurt him. "Is your mummy nearby? Did someone leave you here?"
Even as I say it, I know how insane it sounds. What kind of person abandons a child in a storm like this? On a night when the city told people to stay inside?
I pull him closer, expecting resistance, expecting fear. Children are supposed to be afraid of strangers, aren't they? That's what we teach them. Don't talk to strangers. Don't go with strangers. Scream if a stranger tries to touch you.
But there's no fear in him. Instead, he leans into me naturally like I'm who he's been waiting for. His small body molds against mine, and he's so cold I can feel it through my blouse.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, my hands on his tiny shoulders. "Is your mummy nearby? Did she leave you here for a minute? We need to find her, okay?"
"Mummy," he whispers again.
I open my mouth to tell him we'll find her together, that everything will be okay, when..
"Lia."
My entire body goes rigid.
No. No. Not now. Not him.
I turn, still crouched beside the boy, and look up.
Caius Michael stands there under the pounding rain like it doesn’t dare touch him. Even now, exhausted and furious and crouched in a puddle with a strange child, I can't deny it, he's devastatingly handsome. It's the kind of handsome that makes you angry because it's so unfair.
“Why haven’t you gone home?” he asks.
My mind scrambles. Does he know? Did he somehow find out about Hope Bridge?
"I... I was leaving," I stammer. "But I saw this boy and he was alone and soaking wet and I couldn't just—"
“Go home,” he interrupts. “He’s mine. I’ll take it from here.”
I blink, rain water running down my face.
“He’s… yours?”
Caius Michael has a child?
A child calling for his mother?
What universe is this?
"Are you deaf, Lia?" He steps closer, and I instinctively tighten my grip on the boy. "I said go home."
Heat rushes to my cheeks despite the cold.
Twenty-three hours, I remind myself. Twenty-three hours and you never have to hear that tone again.
"Yes, sir," I force out.
I look down at the child one last time. He's still clinging to me, his small fingers twisted in my wet blouse.
"It's okay," I whisper to him. "You're going to be okay."
I start to stand when Caius adds almost casually.
"And remember, seven AM tomorrow."
Of course. One last punishment for the road.
I nod and finally turn away. Rain splashes up my legs as I walk, but halfway down the street, something makes me glance back.
Caius is crouched beside the little boy now, talking to him quietly. So gently I almost don’t recognize him.
I lower my umbrella and make my way to my apartment.
When I finally reach my apartment, I drop my keys on the counter next to a crisp white envelope.
Hope Bridge Foundation - Offer Letter
Start Date: Monday, 9 AM
I change into dry clothes, make tea, and allow myself one small moment of pure joy.
Then my phone rings. Unknown number.
I almost don't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail because I'm exhausted and soaked and done with this day.
But something makes me pick up.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Sterling?" A woman's voice. "This is County General Hospital calling about Margaret Sterling."
My heart stops.
"What happened? Is she okay? Did something—"
"Your mother is stable," she says quickly. "But Dr. Reeves asked me to contact you about her treatment plan. Her latest scans came back this afternoon, and... the cancer is progressing faster than we anticipated."
No. No, no, no.
"How much faster?"
"We need to start the experimental protocol immediately if we want to have any chance of—" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "We're looking at weeks, Ms. Sterling. Not months."
Weeks.
"Okay." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Okay. So we start the treatment. When can she…"
"That's why I'm calling. We need to discuss payment arrangements first. The trial has an opening, but we'll need a substantial deposit before we can reserve your mother's spot."
Payment arrangements.
My stomach drops.
"How much?"
There's silence on the other end for a moment.
"The full course of treatment, including the trial, ongoing care, and necessary medications... we're looking at approximately one point eight million dollars. We'd need at least half as a deposit to secure her place in the program."
The room tilts.
One point eight million.
My mug slips from my fingers. It hits the floor and explodes.
One point eight million dollars.
"Ms. Sterling? Are you still there?"
"I'm here," I whisper.
"I know this is difficult. We can discuss payment plans, or if you'd like to speak with our financial aid office tomorrow—"
"How long do I have?" My voice cracks. "To get the money."
"The trial spot is reserved through Friday. If we don't have confirmation of payment by then, we'll need to offer i
t to the next patient on the waiting list."
Friday.
I check the date on my phone with shaking hands.
Wednesday night.
Two days. I have two days to find nearly two million dollars.
Or my mother dies.