Chapter 8: Assignment

Time seemed to come to a standstill before my very eyes. My dad– a piece from my past I desperately wanted not to see again– was standing in the same room with me. I was alone with him and his psychotic partner.

Suddenly, I felt eight again, and this was just before he began with his usual ‘games.’

I shook my head to clear my mind. Reliving those memories would only make me vulnerable. I’m stronger than that. My eyes locked onto his features. He looked older, the lines around his eyes deeper, his hair more silver than black now, but the eyes were the same. Ice blue. Calculating. The eyes of a man who looked at people and saw only assets or liabilities.

He didn't speak for a long time. He just drank me in, his gaze traveling from my worn sneakers to my hair. He took a sip of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass.

"You look terrible," he said finally. His voice was low, a rumble that made my stomach turn. "I expected better."

"I’m alive," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Sorry to disappoint you." Though, I don’t think he’d be disappointed. He’d be happy to have his toy back.

He let out a short, dry chuckle and walked toward me. I had to fight every instinct in my body not to flinch, not to step back. I planted my feet. I am not twelve anymore, I told myself.

"Disappoint me?" He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell his cologne—sandalwood and expensive tobacco. The scent of my childhood fear. "You humiliated me. Do you know what it costs to clean up the mess of a 'dead' daughter? The press. The police. The funeral."

"You never cared," I spat. "You were probably relieved."

"I was inconvenienced," he corrected sharply. "And now, you are inconveniencing me again. Do you know how Elliard found you?"

"Because you’re a monster who can’t let anything go?" I spat, even though I knew that wasn’t how.

His hand moved so fast I didn’t register it until the sting bloomed across my cheek. It wasn't a hard slap, not like the ones from before, but it was a reminder.

"Watch your tone," he said calmly, as if he hadn't just struck me. "Elliard found you because you chose to interfere in our business by saving that quarterback in the alley that night. We’ve been tracing him for years, and just when we thought we’d catch him, you decided to meddle in our business. While Elliard began digging into who you were, he found a girl named Sylvania Rodgers. A poor girl who had applied for a scholarship at a renowned university. Then I had an idea. Why not give her what she wants and make her give me what I want?”

My breath hitched in my lungs when I fully comprehended what he said. So the person I saved that night truly was Vesper Bianchi? And… my dad arranged my scholarship?

He walked back to the desk, picked up a manila folder, and tossed it over the coffee table. It slid across the glass surface, stopping just inches from my legs.

"Obsidian Academy," he mused. "That’s a prestigious institution. And you got in on merit. I didn’t think you had the brain for it."

"I worked for it," I said, my cheek stinging. "I worked for everything I have. Unlike you."

He ignored the jibe. He was reading a paper from the file. "4.3 GPA. Debate team captain. Excellent marks in your medical courses. You’ve been busy."

"What do you want?" I asked, exhausted. "You have me. You dragged my family here. Just tell me what you want so I can get them out of this."

"Your 'family' is irrelevant," he said dismissively. "But they are useful leverage. See, Sylvania, I have a problem. A business problem."

"I don't care about your business."

"You will," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Because your continued existence—and the breathing privileges of that woman and her daughter downstairs—depends on it."

He gestured to the folder. "Open it."

I hesitated, then reached down. My hands shook as I flipped the cover open.

Inside was a photograph. It was a candid shot, taken from a distance, of a man. He had messy blond hair, a sharp jawline, and he was wearing a varsity jacket. He was laughing, looking at something off-camera.

I recognized him immediately. Everyone at Obsidian knew him.

"This is Vesper Bianchi," I said, confused. " The quarterback."

"The quarterback," my father repeated mockingly. "And the son of Senator Bianchi. A man who is currently blocking a merger that is very important to me."

He took another sip of his drink, watching me closely. "The Senator is squeaky clean. No mistresses, no gambling debts, no hidden accounts. But the son... the son is a wild card. Boys are careless. They have secrets. They make mistakes."

I looked up from the photo, a cold dread settling in my stomach. "What are you asking me to do?"

"I’m not asking," he said. "I’m investing. You are already inside the school. You are invisible to them—a scholarship kid, a nobody. You have access."

He walked around the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "I want you to get close to him. Befriend him. Date him if you have to. I don't care how you do it. Find out what he’s hiding. Drug habits, cheating scandals, illegal racing—anything I can use to pressure his father into signing the deal."

"You want me to spy on a him?" I asked, incredulous.

"He is a target," my father snapped. "And you are the weapon."

"And if I refuse?"

He smiled. It was a terrifying, thin stretching of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. He pulled a remote from his pocket and clicked a button.

A screen on the wall flickered to life. It showed the interior of the car downstairs. Sylvia was sitting there, clutching a teddy bear, while the man next to her sharpened a small knife, casually, rhythmically.

"Then the leverage becomes unnecessary," he said softly.

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Stop it. Turn it off."

"Do we have an agreement?"

I looked at the screen, at Sylvia’s terrified face. Mum wasn’t even there with her. They had separated them. Then I looked at the photo of Vesper Bianchi. The star with the captivating smile who had never done anything to me. I was going to have to destroy him.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good." My father stood up and straightened his jacket. "Elliard will drive you back. You have a week to make contact. Don't disappoint me again, Sylvania."

He turned his back on me, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than a servant.

I turned to the door, clutching the folder to my chest. My legs were shaking, but I forced them to move. Elliard opened the door .

Before I could take a step out, my father spoke one last time, not turning around.

"Oh, and Sylvania?"

I turned slightly to look at him.

"Don't do anything stupid," he said. "Elliard has installed a tracker on your phone. And just to be safe... we’ve already placed a call across a few people at Obsidian Academy. You have nowhere to run."

The doors slammed shut, severing the room, but the trap had already snapped tight.